13th Legion- Chaos Strike
by mj100
Summary: Lieutenant Kage and the Last Chancers face their toughest challenge yet- defending a remote mountain manufactory against the forces of Chaos, who desire something that dwells deep within its walls...


Chaos Strike

A Last Chancers Story

The guardsman ahead of me collapses as the las-bolt exits his head. All around, guardsmen are dying as the rebels counter-attack. We, that is, the reformed 13TH Penal Legion, also known as the Last Chancers, were attacking the rebels' ammo dump here on Alish IX. Then, the rebel reinforcements arrived. I am Lieutenant Kage. I don't really know why the Colonel brought us here, because the other Guardsmen already on this planet had it under control. He had us attack this base, and it's turned into a rout. I can imagine the Colonel now. "Kage, this attack has become an unmitigated disaster! I hold you personally responsible." But we haven't got there yet. We're still in the middle of the attack. Another soldier dies screaming under a hail of las-bolts. I dive into the trench in front of me along with Johnas, Noil and Grolsch. An enemy soldier is crouching to our right, but Noil cuts him down before he can stand. Las-bolts scream over our head. We look around. Many enemies litter the bottom of the long, thin trench. Steaming holes in the side of the trench mark bullet impacts. Three more of our men dive headfirst into the trench. "...Is hot. I repeat, the LZ is hot. No go for landing. Over," Grolsch shouted into his vox-set. A lot of the new faces in the regiment were drafted in from Alish VIII, a Penal world just a few days of space travel from here. Ironically, most of those are already dead. On the Battlecruiser on the way here, as we came out of warp, thanks to a sensor officer dozing off on duty, the ship was hit by a small asteroid. The rock tore a large gash in one of the troop compartments, containing some of the new recruits, and sucked them all out into space, except three who escaped before the emergency containment doors and forcefields activated. Most of the rest, who were in one of the three other compartments, have been killed in the multitude of enemy air strikes and artillery barrages, incinerated as their dropships were shot down by rebel strike fighters or burned by enemy flamer bunkers.

Speaking of which, there is one directly above us on the other side of the trench to where we dropped in. As I look up at it, a superheated cone of promethium pours out of the firing slit. Noil and I watch as globules of flaming melta-fluid drip down the side of the bunker, leaving blackened scorch marks where they slide.

"Your turn," I say to Noil. He sighs and unbuckles two frag grenades from his webbing. "Clear!" he yells, and lobs his grenades through the slit. One grenade cooks off prematurely in the flames and blows a small chunk of ferrocrete off the wall. The other flies right in the slit and explodes. The flamers and meltas inside the bunker explode, sending a sheet of flaming gases and promethium out of the slit.

"Moving on!" he shouts. Johnas runs down the trench to the right and crouches by a corner in the trench. As I approached the end, another dropship roars overhead. Three of our guys round the corner, to protests from Johnas, and are slaughtered in a wave of autocannon rounds. Grolsch doesn't stop in time and dies too. Johnas reaches out and grabs his vox-set. "What's the bigger picture?" I ask Johnas, who is hardly the best vox-operator in the Imperium, but he is doing his best.

"I think... we're losing!" he shouts over the din of gunfire. Tell me something I don't know, I think. Another dropship flies over, but before it gets out of sight, it is hit by a rocket, spiralling up from the enemy reserve trenches. The Rebels are exceedingly well dug in here. Behind the frontline trenches are a row of reserve trenches, where the Rebel reinforcements wait for deployment orders. Behind them is a line of communications trenches, where messengers wait for orders to run back to the vehicle trench, a wide trench the size of a large street. Then, finally, sits a long line of artillery, and even a few Earthshaker cannons. We have five lines of defence to get through before we even reach the outer defence wall of the ammo dump. Inside the dump there are bound to be a couple of vehicles, and at least a few dozen Rebels utilising the massive ammo stockpiles to reload their own weapons. Then we have to survive long enough to plant a couple of demo charges. All in all, this is another general suicide mission, just like we are used to getting now from the Colonel. Most penal legions are assigned ridiculously dangerous missions in the hope that, if they die, they will be 'cleansed in the eyes of the Emperor.' Of course, I don't think that the Emperor is really watching. Especially considering he just let four troopers get gunned down. Coming back to reality, Johnas is still trying to raise some higher ranking officer. The Colonel is, of course, nowhere near the battlefield. Besides, I was never really one to let the situation overwhelm me. I preferred to save my own skin when I could. I would much rather let someone else do the fighting. After all, I don't see the point of going on a suicide mission and not surviving. It also means the person who wanted you dead curses your good luck, and I think that is just a small added bonus.

Anyway, Johnas has given up on the vox, and is now just firing around the corner. Noil is unbuckling a grenade. He chucks it over the earth embankment and is rewarded by an explosion and a couple of screams. We round the bend in the trench and see a sandbagged autocannon emplacement blocking the way. A small fire burns where the grenade has set off some power cells. The bodies of two Rebels lie sprawled across the sandbags, many of which have been flung around by the explosion. We run down towards the barricade when another Rebel jumps down from the side of the trench. I raise my las-pistol and fire. The las-bolt blows off half of his face and he collapses on top of one of the other corpses. We all hurdle the sandbags and keep running. "Right then lads, we've got a base to blow up!" I shout. We round two more corners before we come upon more resistance. Three Rebels are hurrying up the trench towards us. I fire and kill one. The other two begin to return fire. Johnas fires and drops one. The final one tries to get his comrade's weapon, but Noil kills him with a shot to the head. We keep going down the trench, and come to a sort of connection between the frontline trench and the reserve trench. To the left lies a barricaded trench. The right is blocked off by a tank that has fallen into the trench. The path directly opposite us leads to the ammo dump we can see in the distance. Before we can even start moving, a huge explosion blasts upwards through the ammo dump. Flaming debris rains down. We run for cover under the lip of the far trench.

"Looks like someone got there before us!" I laugh.

The Colonel paces up and down the room in front of me. Schaeffer, his name is. He has piercing ice cold eyes. They don't look human.

"But why would they destroy their own ammo dump?" I ask him. He looks grim.

"They must have had something to hide," he says. I shuffle sideways slightly as one of the armed guards standing outside his office knocks and opens the door.

"Sir, the shuttles are ready," he informs us.

"Good. Embark the troops," he says. "Well, you had better get going, Kage," he tells me, after I don't react for a couple of seconds.

"Aren't you coming, sir?" I ask, knowing full well that he wouldn't.

"No. This mission does not require my direct intervention. However, if you screw things up sufficiently, I may have to deploy some real troops," he taunts me.

The 13th Penal Legion is, like all other Penal Legions, made up of the worst dregs of Imperial prisoners. Many are murderers, traitors, cowards and defeatists. I myself must confess to being a murderer.

We are going in on shuttles to an isolated weapons manufactory high in the Pecus Mountains. The Chaos troops are advancing on it, and we can't afford to lose it. Unfortunately, or so the Colonel says, we can't spare a 'better' trained unit. Personally, I think we are as well trained a unit as you could find anywhere. We have been to hell and back together, and we have formed a very coherent bond. We look out for each other as much as we can. Anyway, back to the plan. The weapons manufactory makes fresh bolters and bolt pistols, and also autocannons. At least we wouldn't run out of ammunition any time soon.

I strap myself into the front seat of the shuttle's passenger compartment as the automatic doors slam shut. Behind me, some twenty troopers are crammed into the shuttle's small passenger hold. Five rows of four seats, two on each side of the aisle, stretch back to the steel inner bulkhead at the rear. There are overhead storage nets where we place our packs and guns. Normally we would come in by dropship, but only in a warzone for quick deployment from the ship. With shuttles, you have to file out one by one, then wait for all your ammunition and stores to be unloaded before you can head for the battle. With dropships you can drop out either two from each side if low to the ground, or one from each side if you're fast-roping out. You carry all of your equipment with you from takeoff.

The shuttle's engines begin to whine as the pilot initiates the launch sequence. I prefer shuttle rides to dropships, because they are usually much smoother. Plus, the shuttle has proper heating. The dropships get ridiculously cold during a descent through the atmosphere. The shuttle begins to lift away from the deck of the _Truthful Vengeance_, our Battlecruiser in orbit. The magnetic suspensor field switches off with an audible crack of displaced air and electricity. As the shuttle leaves the ship's artificial gravity field, there is a slight lurch as the shuttle's gravity compensator adjusts to the correct level. After a few minutes of travel, I decide to tune my commbead to the pilot's frequency. The shuttle gives a pretty large shudder and I hear a loud snapping sound. I hear a panicked voice shouting on the commbead.

"We've been hit by ground fire!" he says. I assume this is our pilot. Looking around, I am shot nervous glances by various members of our squad. The commbead squawks in my ear.

"Are you on correct approach vector?" asks another voice. "We are not detecting any enemy units on that vector."

"Yes, yes, this is the vector that the controller gave me!" shouts the pilot, getting more and more agitated by the second. The shuttle shakes and rolls slightly before righting itself.

"Attitude control has been damaged. Now operating at 50%" says the emotionless voice of the shuttle's servitor co-pilot. I decide to see what is happening for myself. I unbuckle my seat straps and stand.

"What are you doing sir?" asks Johnas, sitting next to me.

"Just observing," I tell him. I step up to the cabin door and slide it open. As I step in and shut it, the shuttle shakes again. The pilot is sitting on the left, shouting into his vox and yanking the stick to the left. The shuttle swerves to the side and I have to hold on to the back of his seat to keep myself from falling over.

"What the hell are you doing?" I shout at him.

"Trying to land this thing!" he shouts back. He doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of it. The shuttle is pitching and swerving wildly. Snow flurries drift past outside the window. I am glad of the heating in the shuttle, as in a dropship we would feel all the cold. The pilot is furiously pressing buttons and flicking switches. The shuttle levels out slightly and banks left. The pilot now seems to be in some semblance of control over the craft. Out of the front window I can see the Pecus Mountains looming large. I can make out a blot on the landscape that must be the manufactory, and stretching out below it snaking black line that could only be the road leading to the city at the base of the mountains; Advacus, the capital. I can see huge las-beams shooting out from the mountains about 10 kilometres from the factory. The shuttle is struck by one beam and shudders to the left. The pilot seems to have lost control again. We begin spiralling towards the manufactory, which is now getting much larger in the window. "I can't keep us up!" shouts the pilot. We begin to drop towards the ground. "Hold on!" yells the pilot. I dash back into the passenger compartment and shout "Brace for crash landing!" I dive into my seat and hurriedly strap myself in. The shuttle smashes into the ground and I get thrown about as it comes to rest. I look around. The troopers are nursing cuts and bruises, but there appear to be no serious injuries.

"Everybody out!" I say, knowing all too well the possible after effects of a shuttle crash. The engines could overheat and catch fire, or the generator might explode. We all get out of the shuttle. The pilot has also survived with only a bruise on his arm. After we disembark, the pilot decides to stagger off towards the manufactory we can see in the distance. I order the men and women of the unit to follow him. The second shuttle flies in low overhead, below the level of ground fire.

We arrive at the manufactory half an hour late. The other shuttle bringing in the second unit has informed them of our crash, so we are expected. The total force at the manufactory consists of five of our squads, making 100 men and women, plus two hundred PDF troopers. The reports from orbital mapping show at least ten times that number of Chaos troops advancing within 10 kilometres of the manufactory, and almost 10,000 more sitting in wait across the mountain range. All in all, things don't look good for us. Chances are high that the Colonel will have to send in those 'real' troops. The main advantage for us is that three sides of the manufactory are backed up against solid rock. The only way into the manufactory is through a narrow bottleneck to the north. We could easily pin them down there, if we only had some heavy weapons. Well, they may not have vehicles due to the mountainous conditions. Some way down the bottleneck is a small ice and rock overhang. This covers the entire path leading to the manufactory. If we can set some charges, we may be able to blow it, causing a blockage that may give us a while longer to prepare for the attack. There is a very real possibility that we will have to blow the manufactory if the enemy starts to overwhelm us. We, of course, will not be extracted before it blows. The only way we can get out is to go through the enemy or hitch a ride on one of the shuttles that comes in to take some of the ammo and workers away. Basically, another suicide mission.

Johnas, Lond, Noil and I are planting the charges on the overhang. We have planned to detonate them when some enemy vehicles, or at least troops, are underneath it. The problem is, we aren't sure if we have enough explosive to bring it down. It is solid rock, after all. The latest reports show that the enemy will be on us in less than an hour. We will have to hurry.

We have prepared several defences at the manufactory. We, or rather, the techs at the manufactory, have managed to rig up some servitor guns. These are, quite simply, autocannons or bolters fitted onto a servitor, who can fire them. Thanks to the number of servitors working on the production lines, they could remove plenty of them, but still leave enough for operations. We have a sandbagged line of defence where the troops are waiting. Unfortunately, most of the PDF forces have just been evacuated, leaving us with only eighty troops along with our own. A fine thanks that is, seeing as we are trying to defend their territory. The troops didn't want to leave, they wanted to fight, but the selfish governor ordered them to go and defend his magnificent palace, full of luxurious furnishings and artworks, while they are evacuated. No wonder. Of course, he's not planetside. He's on his massive, opulent spacecraft in orbit. His greed may well cause the manufactory to fall.

Our charges are set, so we begin to retreat. We are but a few metres from the sandbag wall when a shell whistles down out of the clouds and blows a crater in the snow, sending dirt and steam skywards. We dive for cover, although there is none on the open snowfield. As I look up, a blood red Buzzard ground attack fighter roars overhead, emblazoned with Chaos emblems that are nauseating to look at.

"They're early!" shouts Noil, glancing over his shoulder. I follow his gaze.

Just emerging from around the overhang is a squad of Rebel infantry. Another Buzzard streaks over, popping two bombs into our defence lines. No one is hurt, but a nasty gouge is cut in the sandbag wall.

"Let's go! Get to the defence line!" I shout, standing up and sprinting. Another shell falls into the snow to our left. I hurdle the sandbags and throw myself into cover as a shell hits a servitor turret. Shrapnel decapitates a PDF trooper as the servitor's jagged remains fall out of the sky. Johnas, Noil and Lond join me on our side as the defence turrets begin opening fire on the advancing Rebel squad.

Two are cut to pieces by heavy bolter rounds. Another gets shredded by friendly shellfire, and another is gunned down by an autocannon. The remaining six men begin to retreat, but another loses his head to a bolt round. The survivors round the corner behind the overhang, and all goes quiet, save for a few fighters streaking overhead.

I walk over to the Lieutenant of the PDF troopers, Holix. He is conversing with his Sergeant, Kilok. He turns to me as I approach.

"Good to see you back, Kage. Charges planted?" he asks me. I nod.

"Any casualties?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"The shelling was pretty inaccurate. They killed more of their own than they did of us!" he laughs. "We'll have to rebuild that section of the sandbag wall, though," he says, indicating the area I had seen take a hit. I nod, mentally detailing the next soldiers who start a fight to that particular job.

They aren't long in coming, either. A few hours after entering the manufactory, we are falling in for our afternoon meal.

A tall, lanky man called Hilon has taken the seat of Yunak, a dark haired sniper girl. She complains, and so he punches her. She punches him back. This then degenerates into a brawl, the other troopers standing round them, giving them plenty of room, placing bets and shouting encouragement. If there's one thing the Last Chancers do well, it's brawls between members. If half of them fought as hard on the battlefield as they do between themselves, we'd have taken the ammo dump within seconds of landing.

Well, I decide to step in, seeing as I'm the ranking officer in the mess. Pushing through the crowd of troopers jostling to get a better look, I emerge into the arena. Yunak is currently having her face pummelled in by Hilon, who has taken up residence on top of her torso, pinning her to the ground. I yank him up by his long hair, and he swings round to face me. A quick left sends him spinning into the crowd, who push him straight back in, placing more bets over the new arrival. Most of them have seen me fight enough times before to know I'm usually a safe bet.

I knee him in the groin, followed by a punch to the stomach, and this sends him to the floor, doubled up and whimpering in pain. Yunak stands by passively, watching me beat the living juice out of him. I crush the bridge of his nose with a heavy punch as he stands up, and he slides across a table, scattering trays and cutlery. As he drags himself to his feet, I turn to the crowd. They roar at me, clapping and cheering. I look at Yunak.

"Go ahead," she says, knowing what I plan to do.

I rotate back to face Hilon, and he charges headlong at me. A foolish mistake and it allows me to easily trip him up as he nears me. He slams into the floor, growling and muttering. He stands up again, and again he meets my fist with his nose. He howls in pain as his broken facial feature is given a further battering. I grab his arm and wrench it out of its socket as he stands there dazed. One final punch sends him to the floor, out cold, blood trickling from his nose and a half dozen cuts on his face. The troopers cheer. I turn to face them. Some are swearing that they lost a bet; others are giving me the thumbs up. I face Yunak. "Call a medic, why don't you?" I say to her. She nods. I think he learned his lesson.

A day after the incident, I am standing in an office, overlooking the snowfield where our defences are being repaired by Hilon and Yunak, under the watchful eyes of two PDF troopers.

With me in the room are the PDF Lieutenant, Holix, the factory foreman, and a robed Tech-priest named Samarchus. Bulbous implants have replaced the back of his head, and wires lead down his back to Emperor-knows what. He leers at me.

"We can operate for another two days on this scale of pressure," he tells me. The foreman nods in agreement.

"Given the current weather conditions," he indicates the window, where, outside, a blizzard is blowing. I can barely see the sandbags any more, let alone the overhang. I thank the Emperor that I'm safe and warm inside, and I feel sorry for the PDF men and Yunak. Hilon fails to garner any sympathy from me. I half toy with the idea of leaving him out there to do it by himself, but then I dismiss it as Holix steps up to me.

"Kage," he says. "Orbital scans now report that the main enemy presence in this area is likely to be upon us in less than a day. They've got armour. Not much, but enough to turf us out should the infantry fail." He hands me a data-slate. I examine the screen, which displays a series of pulsing runes and red and blue icons.

Holix sees my look of confusion, and says,

"The blue is us, the red is the enemy. The green over there is the capital, and that dark blue," he indicates a cluster of blue dots on the very edge of the screen, "Are our nearest reinforcements. The 60th Guverian Dragoons, a full week away in the outer system." I nod. The Tech-priest fiddles around with some ancient device concealed in his robe.

"We have sixty servitors and a little under a hundred workers fulfilling this week's production quota. They will cease working in a day or so, and will be evacuated. The servitors will be turned over to you, to use in your defences as you see fit," says the priest, walking over to the window. The blizzard has increased in its fury. I think Yunak and Hilon have finished their work, and they, along with their guard, have re-entered the comparative warmth of our ground floor barracks. I turn to Holix.

"If they'll be on us that soon, I suggest we prepare," I say, trying to sound authoritative. He nods, consulting his data-slate again.

"I suggest a prepared defence line, like our current one but strengthened, and consisting of manned trenches with backup weapons emplacements, manned by servitors. The trenches will be defended by my warriors," he says, gleaming with pride. "Your troops will take up positions off to the sides of the snowfields, ready for a flanking manoeuvre, should the need arise," he says, sounding slightly smug at the fact that his troops would be in the heavily defended trenches, whereas the Last Chancers would be in the middle of frag-all, with nothing but a frozen lasgun and maybe a couple of grenades, if we're lucky. That's just typical of our usual positions. I nod, agreeing that this would be the wisest course of action. It probably will be, although prepared trenches in the flanking positions with some servitor-manned weapons would also be a good idea, with the PDF men ready for a frontal push on the weakened Chaos troops. As I turn to propose this, a shell lands in the snowfield.

"Let's get on with it," I say.

The Last Chancers, dressed in all-weather survival gear and bulky snow-coats have been preparing the trenches, with some help from similarly clad PDF soldiers. The ground, frozen solid, has proved almost impossible to dig through, so we have had to resort to either using several rockcrete drills, or thawing the ground with a flamer. This has worked to some extent, but only half of the trench positions have been finished.

I am piling sandbags on the parapet of one trench, while Johnas and a PDF Corporal install a firing step. Another PDF man and one of the workers from the factory are dragging flakboard down into the trench as a wall lining. Several other Last Chancers mill about, carrying weapons, ammo or sandbags. Noil hops down into the trench with a vox-set, which he takes into the small dugout we have arranged for the Command bunker. It contains a simple trestle table and a couple of rickety chairs salvaged from an old office deep in the factory. Noil has dumped the vox on the table, and several tactical maps are pinned to the walls. An old fan heater sits in one corner, whirring fitfully. A caf dispenser is sitting on another small table, two steaming mugs waiting for me and Holix, and Oril, a thin woman acting as my adjutant, is pouring another one for Kilok. She salutes as she sees me. I take a mug and sip the scalding liquid gratefully. It feels good to get something warm inside me after a few hours of freezing work. Noil re-enters the dugout, carrying a crate to put the vox on, his breath condensing in the cold air. He puts the crate down and shivers, rubbing his arms, even though he is wearing several layers of thermal clothing, a survival suit and a thick jacket. He places the vox on the table, salutes smartly, and heads back out.

I believe Noil was 'drafted' into the Last Chancers because he simply refused to obey an obviously suicidal order that told him to charge his twelve-man squad into the Tau frontline, where they would have been cut to pieces by pulse rifle and burst cannon fire in seconds. He was fighting on Yolet V. He was a Sergeant and a very promising one too. He seems confident in his abilities and very cool under fire, perfect officer material.

I myself was sent to the prison because I punched my Sergeant. He was a sore loser.

Holix and Kilok enter the dugout, carrying several maps and their own personal weapons between them. They dump it all on the table.

"I think that's the dugout about ready for us to command from, don't you Kage?" Holix asks me, taking a mug of caf. I examine the hole in the ground again, and I am inclined to agree.

"Yes, it is," I say. Kilok takes his mug and Holix clears the weapons, leaning them up against the earth wall of the dugout. Kilok spreads a map out on the table. It shows the surrounding area, with the manufactory complex marked in black. Thin pencil lines cris-cross thicker pen marks, showing possible lines of attack and defence. Holix takes another sip of caf before speaking.

"Now, the latest orbital scans show the enemy has stopped about a klick outside the overhang," he says, indicating this still intact feature with his free hand. "Composition reports show them to be a mixed bunch. Mainly Rebels, with some vehicles and a couple of tanks thrown in. They have air support, and we still haven't been able to find their artillery positions," he continues, taking out a data-slate and placing it on the table. "We don't know why they have stopped," he goes on, waving his hands about theatrically for no discernable reason. "But it buys us some extra prep time," he finishes, deferring to his subaltern. Kilok steps up to the map table.

"The trench lines are sixty percent complete. We estimate if the enemy holds off for another two hours, we will have finished the trench system," he says. "The servitor weapons have been fully reloaded, and more are being set up from those newly released from the production lines. We have missile launchers, lascannons, heavy bolters and autocannons manned by them, plus several mortar pits." I nod, noticing two PDF troopers hurrying past the entrance carrying an ammo crate between them.

I take my leave from them, and step outside into the bitter cold once more, leaving them to plan their own defence. I climb out of the trench, observing the hustle and bustle of a hundred and eighty well disciplined soldiers, plus about twenty workers, setting up defences. Some carry flakboard, sandbags or ammo, others hammer duckboards into place. A few stand guard, while several workers see to installing the servitor guns. More men are moving the 60mm man portable mortars into their pits, while yet another group brings along shells. A vox-set has been assigned to every squad, and a couple of men move these to their assigned spots. A bunch of Last Chancers set up razor wire coils in front of the trenches, and a few more shore up trench walls or drape camo netting over stubber positions. I watch all of this from my vantage point behind the third and final trench line. The overhang is shrouded in early morning mist, and I can't see beyond it.

Not that there is anything much to see, only endless mountains and jagged cliffs of ice and snow. To some it may seem interesting, even beautiful, but I can't see how they could think this, even without the blot that is the manufactory, with huge chimney stacks spouting thick, pungent smoke that I can smell from here, an acrid tang that makes the eyes water.

Noil climbs the trench wall to stand beside me.

"Almost ready, sir," he informs me. More soldiers take ammo panniers and ration sacks to troop concentrations and positions, filling the trench with fresh bullets, shells and power packs.

"Indeed we are, Noil," I reply, taking an interest in three Last Chancers manhandling something into a camo-netted pit. "What are they doing?" I ask him, indicating the soldiers, who are now readjusting the netting and pushing the thing forwards.

"Oh, that's a portable generator, from the factory," he says. I look questioningly at him.

"What use is that going to be out here?" I ask him.

"Samarchus insisted it might come in handy. Emperor only knows why," he answers, shaking his head.

"Do we really want it taking up all that space? I mean, it's a bit of an easy target," I say to him. "And it'll make a hell of a bang if it goes up."

He doesn't reply, focussing instead on the overhang. He seems to be listening intently. I hear nothing except the shouts and grunts of soldiers, and the scraping, banging and drilling coming from the trenches.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"Don't know. Thought I heard some engines, but they've stopped now," he tells me. Right, I think. Better tell Holix and Kilok. I pat him on the shoulder and am about to thank him for his hearing, when a shell lands in the snow just a few metres ahead of us.

We are flung back into the snow-lined trench, ice crystals smashing beneath our weight. I roll to one side and into a stack of ammo crates, toppling them. All I can hear is a loud ringing. Snow covers my face, and I try to wipe it away with a gloved hand. My hearing returns and I can hear shouting nearby, and someone screaming for a medic. I clear my face of snow, and stand up.

Noil does the same next to me, massaging his head where I assume he hit it on something. Carnage reigns. Several soldiers pick themselves up and dust their clothing off, while others hurry to man firing points, especially when they see what is coming around the corner behind the overhang.

A Chaos Space Marine Predator tank rounds the bend, and a squad of Rebels advance in line behind it, chanting something. Foul icons and sigils of Chaos cover the tank, and brass horns have been fitted to the turret and upper hull. The barrels of its twin-linked main lascannons and sponson heavy bolters drip with blood, and spikes proudly display the heads of dead civilians from the city below.

A couple of the PDF troopers gasp as they recognise fellow soldiers, beheaded and put on show. A Chaos Marine rides in the open turret, wearing the armour of the World Eaters Legion, and shouting ritualistic phrases through a speaker phone. The tank rumbles on, and Holix comes rushing out of the dugout, followed by Kilok.

"Oh damn!" Holix shouts, sprinting for an unmanned missile launcher mounted on the parapet of the trench. I gather up my wits and bellow, "Last Chancers, on me!" Ten men and women respond to my call, gathering up various weapons and taking extra ammo as they pass open panniers and crates.

"Let's get to the front line trench!" I shout as Holix fires off a rocket. It flies towards the tank, but fails to hit and roars straight past, impacting with one of the Rebels near the rear of the column.

He is instantly atomised by the explosive discharge, as are three of his comrades. The two Rebels in the middle of the column are flung forwards into their remaining comrades, and they are thrown into disarray. The Marine in the tank yells and curses them, until a well placed Las-bolt from a PDF sniper blows his face out through the back of his thickly armoured helmet, and he collapses onto the speaker phone. Static hisses for a second until he slides limply off.

Lascannons manned by servitors open up now, along with the massed crackle of multiple Lasguns discharging at the same time. The remaining Rebels flee, and are mercilessly cut down by Autocannon and bolter fire from servitor defences. A hole is punched in the front armour of the Predator, and it swings round, the daemon bound within its armoured shell roaring in pain at this violation. A missile streaks into the turret, ripping one of the Lascannons free, and more Lascannon rounds smack into the tracks, blowing out links and wheels. The tank grinds to a halt as Lascannons find its engine block. Smoke pours from a dozen steaming holes in its armour, and a missile shatters the turret, wrenching it off. Oily smoke fills the sky above it as the daemon shrieks one last time, before Lascannon rounds stitch a series of holes across its side. Something explodes within it and it flips over. I hear triumphant yells from the defenders as the tank's structure rips itself apart, ammo and fuel detonating in a concussive shockwave. Heat washes over me, even where I stand in the third trench line. All of this, from Holix's opening shot, took place within a minute, and the Last Chancers around me are not even ready to leave the trench.

"We've fought them off, but they'll be back," says Kilok, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Sure enough," affirms Holix, loading another missile into the launcher.

"Alright, Last Chancers," I shout. "Back to your posts, finish the trenches, and then you're dismissed for lunch," I tell them, and they cheer, hurrying off to complete their tasks.

As Kilok had said, sure enough, they would be back.

I am lying in my bunk, going over plans of defence in my head. It is the small, dead hours of the night. About seventy five Last Chancers had already slept and were manning the trenches while the remainder slept about me.

We had procured a long dormitory from the Adepts in the factory, and the troops had slung their personal belongings about, draping packs and weapons over bedposts, sliding webbing under beds and so on. They each have a bed, with seventy two-tier bunks providing adequate bedding. I roll over and try to pull the blanket up further, but it just pulls up over my legs. It isn't cold, because the heat from the furnaces and factory forges are used for heating. Frustrated, I sit up and rearrange it, then lie down again.

Then, without warning, there is an explosion. Dust pours from the ceiling, and I sit up, throwing the blanket off and jumping to the ground.

"Last Chancers, up!" I shout, pulling on my boots and cold weather jacket and taking my weapon.

Twenty five men and women sit up around me, in varying states of dress. Some are fully dressed save for their boots, like me, others wearing only trousers or underwear. They all hurriedly dress, trying to put their jackets and shoes on at the same time. Noil pulls on his gloves, and Oril struggles to pull on her vest over her thick hair.

I dash for the door, leaving them to catch up with me. Holix comes bursting in, and behind him is Kilok, buttoning up his jacket.

"The enemy are attacking in force!" he shouts, eying the partially dressed Last Chancers. "Hurry them up," he says. "We need everybody we can." He turns and jogs out. The Last Chancers trot up to join me.

"Let's go!" I say, pushing open the door.

The snowfield is a mess. Several servitors lie dead, along with a few Rebel soldiers, sprawled out horribly. Craters pit the field, and several parts of trench have collapsed. The Last Chancers and PDF troops already on duty are firing wildly into the darkness of the night, and twinkling bursts of las-fire answer them. A shell comes down into one of the mortar pits, and blows the weapon and crew into the dark sky.

"We have to get down to the trenches!" I shout. I start running towards the trench, and turn to observe my troops. Noil is right behind me, as is Oril, fumbling with her jacket while running. The rest of the troops run behind them. Something explodes deep in the night. I reach the trench and jump in, running up to Johnas who is leading the Last Chancers in my absence. "What's the situation?" I question him.

He looks around and answers, "We can't see them, but we sure as hell know they're attacking!" I duck a spray of snow as a shell lands just outside the trench, and then I am thrown through the air as another lands just behind Johnas. I land further back in the trench, and someone lands on top of me. I catch the smell of perfume before a cloying stench of cordite obscures all else. The body on top of me rolls over, and I see it is Oril. Two Last Chancers lie dead, limbs severed or broken and twisted at unnatural angles. Johnas picks himself up from the dirt, as does Noil. I order the Last Chancers behind me to make their way to the forward trenches, and I hurry along the trench towards the dugout. Johnas turns off at one point, and I wish him good luck, and I enter the dugout. It is lit by a pair of flickering sodium lamps. Holix, Kilok and Samarchus, of all people, occupy the makeshift command centre already.

"Shouldn't you be overseeing some algorithm or something?" I ask him. He shakes his robed head.

"No. I'm overseeing your defence," he says. I suppress a laugh, and turn to Holix.

"Seriously, what is he doing here?" I ask him. He sighs.

"He says he wants to see his creation do its work through his own eyes, not through a pict-link," Holix says. I look quizzically at Samarchus. His eyes give nothing away.

"What creation?" I ask. He laughs hoarsely and produces the same device I had seen him with in the office in the manufactory two days ago. Like he said then, the manufactory has stopped production. We won't get any more ammo after we run out now, but at least we have plenty. He refuses to answer my question, and I think back to the thing I had seen being moved into position the day before. Noil had said it was a generator, but now I am starting to doubt him.

A shell shakes the dugout, sending soil onto the pristine map. Holix swears and picks up his weapon.

"Come on, Kage. We've got to get up to the frontline!" he shouts.

"No! No! Wait!" Samarchus says. We turn to look at him. "Stand up on the firing step," he tells us. "Before you fight, you must witness something," he continues, walking out of the dugout and climbing up the ramp onto the snowfield. We follow him, and I for one am intrigued. He removes the device from his robes and whispers something into it, then he presses some buttons. I don't profess to know what he's doing, and neither do the PDF men, staring in wonderment as the thing out in the snowfield starts to flash.

"What in the Emperor's name is he doing?" breaths Kilok, as the thing begins whirring. Samarchus speaks again into his device, and the clouds light up a dull green. The defenders and attackers alike look up at the sky.

Beams of light shoot down at the overhang, detonating the charges we had placed and shattering the rocks surrounding it. The ground lights up, and I can see waves of Rebels and armoured vehicles advancing towards us, most staring up at the spectacle that lights up the night's sky. Several more beams of coruscating energy, wreathed in plumes of flame, strike the ground in the midst of the enemy armoured column.

Tanks are hurled skywards and men simply disintegrate in the immense heat. The snow at my feet begins to melt, and I am suddenly hot. I see Kilok unbuttoning his jacket.

Several explosions rip the snowfield asunder, sending rapidly evaporating plumes of snow and dirt across the trenches. Tanks mill around aimlessly, crushing their own soldiers as they fight to try and escape the orbital bombardment that Samarchus has called down.

Huge beams of plasma, each as wide as a Titan, blow great holes in the ground.

The fire decimates the landscape, immolating screaming Rebels and blasting tanks apart. The tattered remains of the enemy force begin to retreat, but none are spared, as yet more energy beams, plasma strikes and torpedoes as long as dropships smash into them, leaving only bent and scorched armour plates and half-burned bones littering the ground.

"Privilege of connections," Samarchus smiles, waving the commlink opened to the frequency of the Cruiser that brought us to Alish IX.

After Samarchus's effective tactics, the enemy seemed reluctant to attack us again, and I understand why. Nobody, not even the forces of Chaos, wants to be standing under a beam of plasma when it comes down.

I have decided to place three quarters of the Last Chancers on sentry duty again, while the remainder rest. I am standing in the office where I conversed with Holix and Kilok before, and we are discussing strategies again. One of the PDF guards standing outside knocks on the door and comes in without waiting for a reply.

"I think you should take a look outside, sir," he says, talking mainly to Holix. We all crowd around the window.

Below, on the snowfield, two workers are running amok. One is male, one is female, and both are stark naked. What would possess anyone to run through a crowd of soldiers with no clothes on in temperatures cold enough to freeze a cut of meat as effectively as any dedicated freezer is beyond us.

"What in the name of the Emperor are those two fools doing?" asks Kilok. The man is running into a shell hole where he picks up a bolt pistol and blows his head off. The woman climbs into a mortar pit where the crew are taking lunch. They stand up and try to wrestle her to the ground before she does anything stupid, but they are too late. She starts clubbing herself to death with a mortar shell, and the crew scramble clear in case it goes off. It doesn't, and they return and carry her body up onto the snow.

"There are only two reasons why someone would do that," Samarchus says. He has come up behind us silently, and we are all startled by his sudden voice. "One reason is that they are utterly mad, and the other is that they have been corrupted by Chaos," he says, placing himself on a chair.

"So you mean either our workers are nutters, or Chaos forces are in the factory?" Holix asks, drawing his bolt pistol. Samarchus nods.

"Something like that," he affirms. Holix swears and starts for the door.

"We have to cleanse the factory, if it has indeed been tainted!" he shouts, dashing for the door, the guard and Kilok at his heels. I follow, leaving Samarchus, the man who quite possibly saved us with his 'connections,' to sit by himself.

That night, I inform the Last Chancers of our discovery. Shocked murmuring fills the dormitory, and I quieten them down as they get ready for shift change. The seventy five Last Chancers on sentry duty return, and swap places with the remaining twenty five. They all flop into their beds and so do I, after consulting with Holix and confirming that we would lead a fire team into the depths of the factory the next morning.

I awaken to the sound of screaming. I quickly jump down from my bed, and am about to grab my weapon when Noil comes running up to me.

"Sir! Quick, it's Barads!" he shouts. I remove my hand from the holster and instead follow him down to the other end of the room.

As I approach, the screaming gets louder. Noil threads his way through scattered kit bags until he reaches the far end of the room. Yunak sits on her bed, clutching the blanket to herself tightly, too afraid to do anything. Barads twitches violently on the bunk below her, screaming and looking like he's having a seizure. His constant rolling about is rocking the bunk, and Yunak looks afraid she'll fall out.

Barads convulses and vomits violently, tipping the bed with his movements. Yunak screams as she is flung into me, and Barads rolls into Noil, tripping him. Trapped beneath Yunak and horribly tangled in blankets and pillows, I try to get free. Barads is still screaming, and someone picks Yunak up. She hurriedly dresses as I free myself with the help of Lond. Barads is rolling round the floor, leaving a trail of vomit wherever he happens to go.

Noil tries to grab him, but he rolls under a bed and kicks it, toppling it and its occupants, Innel, a burly flamer trooper, and Kiyet, another thin sniper girl, onto the floor.

Barads rolls out from under it and starts to cry. I rush over to him, but Noil gets there first. He restrains Barads, and turns to me.

"What the hell happened, sir?" he asks me, looking puzzled, as two Last Chancers drag Barads, still twitching, towards the medical bay. I shrug.

"You know as much as I do, Noil," I tell him. He looks like he is going to say something else, then changes his mind, salutes, and follows the two troopers to the medical bay.

It turns out Barads has been tainted by Chaos, just the same as the workers. He died in the medical bay about an hour after he left the dormitory. His body has been burned, just as a precaution. He was a good soldier, and it is a terrible waste.

I am standing in the forwards trench, supervising the removal of the signalling device Samarchus had used to call down the orbital strike. Several PDF men are clearing a path for it, and a couple of Last Chancers, including Lond and Hilon, are dragging the bulky metal object up from its pit. It is still bitterly cold, despite the twin suns of the Alish system blazing down on us. One is a deep purple, and the other is a much smaller star, but is almost pure white. Several men carry portable heaters to gun positions to thaw the barrels of the guns, frozen in the night's temperatures.

I have heard from a couple of the PDF troopers that, near the pole, it drops to near absolute zero. They were no doubt been exaggerating just a little bit, but I can see what they mean. The snow glistens in the sunlight, and the wreckage of the vehicles from last night's attack smoulders in the distance. Despite the immense heat unleashed by the bombardment, which contrived to melt all the snow in the immediate vicinity, the snowfield is as pristine white as it was when we arrived.

I turn as Holix and half a dozen PDF troops appear behind me.

"Ready, Kage?" he asks me. I nod. "Better get your squad together. Meet us at the production line entrance," he says, turning away and walking towards the manufactory. I haul myself up and out of the trench.

"Noil, Yunak, Innel, on me!" I shout. They hurry over. "We're leading a fire team into the factory. Cleansing it of Chaos, if at all possible. We'll be accompanying Lieutenant Holix and a team of PDF slackers. Let's show them what we can do!" They cheer.

We arrive at the entrance to the production line. Holix and his six-man team are already there. They are all armed with lasguns, save for one man who has a flamer. I also have a lasgun, as does Noil. Innel has his flamer, pilot light glowing dimly in the darkness. Yunak has her sniper variant lasgun.

"Right. All here? Let's go," Holix says. He taps the door release button, and the door slides upwards.

The production line is dark and silent. Rows of conveyor belts stretch into the distance, and discarded tools are scattered across the floor. The liquid metal holder is empty, still upturned over the conveyor where unfinished autoguns and rocket launchers sit. We all switch our torches mounted on the barrels of our guns on. Beams of light sweep across darkened furnaces. Nothing seems to be moving. We advance slowly through the room, examining every corner. We come to the other end. It is empty. Holix and his flamer guy bracket the doorway to the control office. He nods silently at me. I nod back, giving him the signal. He spins and kicks the door in. His flamer guy enters.

His head explodes into bloody streamers.

"Damn!" screams someone, as las-bolts begin to fill the air. Two PDF guys go down, screaming and kicking. Holix dives for cover behind a conveyor belt, and Innel joins him, spraying the doorway with fire. Yunak rolls across the conveyor and crouches low.

"Die, you Chaos scum!" Noil screams, emptying his clip into the doorway. More flame belches across it. Another PDF guy falls to the ground, blood spouting from his severed torso. I dive behind the conveyor, as the two remaining PDF men sprint for us. We open up with covering fire, but we don't even know what we're shooting at. They both make it. I reload. Noil shuffles across to me.

"What the hell is going on?" he whispers, for everything has suddenly gone silent. I shrug. Holix crawls over to us.

"We need backup _now_!" he hisses. I look around. Great. Nobody thought to bring a vox set. We're screwed.

I look over at the control room. Tiny embers still glow around the doorway where the paint has been crisped, and a few coils of smoke drift lazily across the doorway, but there is no sign of anything else. The corpses of the PDF troopers lie twisted awkwardly. I turn back to Holix and Noil.

"You two get round there," Holix says, indicating the two PDF men and then the far side of the control room. "Give us some feedback, we can't eyeball anything from here." They nod, and hurry off around the conveyor to the control room. We all train our sights on the door. The two guys creep along the wall of the control room. I think I see something move in the control room, but I can't be sure.

They take up position one side of the door. I _definitely _saw something move in there...

"Pull your men back!" I shout at Holix. He motions them to do so, but before they can, streaks of red light fly at them. One guy loses all the flesh on his right arm, and drops his gun. He starts coming towards us, clutching his arm. The other guy is dead before he hits the floor, his skull being split open in several places even as we watch. The first guy almost makes the conveyor, but another streak of light sticks in his back, and he pitches forward onto the belt.

"Get some grenades in there!" Holix yells, and Noil obliges. He pulls three, and throws them in through the doorway one after the other.

"Heads up!" he roars and the control room erupts into smoke and flames. Rubble flies everywhere, and we duck below the level of the conveyor.

When the dust had subsided, I chance a look. The whole room has collapsed, with just a few remnants of wall still standing. Noil and Innel hurdle the conveyor, and Yunak covers them.

"There's nothing here, sir!" Innel calls, examining the rubble. Holix looks puzzled. So do I, to be honest. What the hell caused all that? And how can it just vanish? Surely there would be something left of whatever it was? Even if it was just some blood or a severed limb? But I guess not. Holix stands up. Yunak looks around nervously, and Innel sits on the conveyor and takes a swig of something from a hip flask. He proffers it to us all. First to Yunak, who declines, but Noil, Holix and I take advantage of the offer. It's bloody strong, whatever it is. Rather tangy, too.

We report the results of the sweep to Samarchus and Kilok.

"What more can we do?" asks Kilok, standing in the dugout with me and Holix. I shrug.

"If we can't even get past the control room…we can't really do anything," I say. Holix nods.

"Not a lot of options open to us, I'm afraid," he says, examining the map. I follow his gaze. He is looking at the general vicinity of the overhang which was, of course, demolished last night.

"Well...we can't go in, because Chaos is already there. And we can't go out because Chaos is already there as well," he says. "So all we can do is sit tight. How long 'till the 60th Guverian Dragoons are with us?" he asks, taking a tactical printout and examining it.

"Four days after today, sir," Kilok tells him. I turn as Johnas enters the dugout. He salutes.

"We've finished the trenches, sir," he says to me. We all nod.

"Good. Rotate the troops. Send 'em to lunch," I tell him. He salutes again, and leaves. I turn back to Holix and Kilok.

"At least we've got a strong firebase," I say. They nod appreciatively.

That night, I sit up late with Holix, Kilok and Johnas discussing tactics. We are in the office, the same one we have used before, and we all have mugs of caf that have long since gone cold. I nibble at a tasteless ration bar.

"As you said, Kage, we can easily defend the bottleneck," Holix says. "But...if they can get in any other way, like over the mountains, then we won't know until it's too late. We're surrounded, plain and simple. We've got four days until reinforcements arrive, and it's no good trying to fight our way out." We all nod sagely. I am beginning to wonder if we'll get out of this alive.

"I don't think we ought to worry about the mountain route," Kilok says. "If they get in there, we've had it anyway. We'll be sandwiched in."

"Well, yes, but as long as we draw breath, we'll fight!" Holix says. "Well, we'd better get some rest," he says, standing up and taking his caf with him.

I walk with Johnas to our dormitory, discussing the minutiae of our defence line. We arrive, and I proceed quietly to my bunk, past rows of sleeping Last Chancers.

I am awoken by gunfire. I sit up, jump down from my bunk and grab my Lasgun. Las-bolts are flying across the hall further down, away from the exit. I hurry towards it, through ranks of drowsy troops. I reach the vicinity. Johnas comes towards me, Lasgun in hand.

"Sir, it's the Chaos forces! They've got in somehow!" he shouts, almost drowned out by incessant autogun fire. I follow him to a barricade of overturned bunks and bedding.

Lond, Innel, Yunak, Noil and several others are manning it. On the other side are several more Last Chancers. I see two fall under a hail of Las-fire. Kiyet dashes for a bunk to use as cover. Trapler, a flamer trooper, sprays several Rebels with burning promethium. More Last Chancers die.

"Pull them back!" I shout at Johnas, as Trapler's promethium tank takes a hit and he goes up in flames. Kiyet rolls around to put out her smouldering jacket and several others are caught in the blast, their skin blistering in the heat.

"Fall back!" Johnas yells, waving frantically. The remaining Last Chancers oblige. Kiyet leaps over some piled mattresses. A few others clamber through bunks or over clumps of sheets and pillows.

We give them covering fire. Some PDF troopers, along with Holix and Kilok, arrive to reinforce us, and all the other Last Chancers are rising now and coming to our aid. A thunderous blast rocks the building and sends dust cascading from the ceiling.

"What've we got?" Holix shouts. Autogun rounds bounce off the bed frames and thump harmlessly into the mattress piles and sheets. Pillows release feathers as las bolts burn holes in them.

"Chaos troops, Rebels. They've found a back way in!" I tell him. A Last Chancer behind me dies horribly as his head explodes. Blood sprays all over my back. Holix crouches low behind some mattresses.

"We've got to flush them out!" he says. Innel douses several screaming Rebels in flame. Two PDF men set up a Heavy Bolter and open fire. The high explosive shells blow limbs apart and decimate the torsos of several Rebels foolish enough to remain in the open. Another PDF guy falls with a steaming hole in his chest. Several grenades come over the barricade. I hurl one back, and Noil does likewise, but there is a third somewhere, and I scramble around for it, as do Holix and Lond.

"Fire in the hole!" Kilok yells. The missing grenade, hidden in some sheets and pillows, goes off.

Once again I am flung through the air into a newly overturned bunk. A mattress cushions my fall, but then something lands on me and knocks the breath out of me. Pillows and sheets flutter down around me. I see Kiyet has landed on me, and I manage to extricate her. This leaves me wrapped in blankets and unable to really move. She helps me out, and I stand.

Innel is still spraying fire everywhere, and the PDF men are blasting away, taking several Rebels down. I pop off a few shots as I dash over to Holix.

"Kage! We can flank them if you can cover us!" he shouts over the din. I give him the thumbs up and turn to head back to Johnas.

Another explosion blows through the barricade further down, sending several Last Chancers flying. Mattresses and bed frames scatter across the room. Johnas and Kiyet sprint across, followed by Innel and Kilok. A couple of Last Chancers are gunned down crossing the open. They all crouch around me.

"Kilok says he can flank them if we can cover him!" I tell them.

"But has he got enough men?" Johnas asks. I shrug.

"That's for him to know. We'll have to wait and see." I turn to address the Last Chancers.

"Covering fire!" I yell, and they rush to defend the breach. I nod to Holix, and he begins to organise his men.

"Damn! He's got a plasma gun!" I hear someone shout. I turn to observe. At the far left of the enemy line, where Holix and the PDF are advancing, there is indeed a Rebel with a plasma gun. Even as I see him, he fires. A bolt of sizzling purple energy flies towards the advancing PDF. Several of them duck for cover, and some run sideways away from the blast, but it strikes one man in the chest. He disintegrates, as do two of his companions. All of our defensive fire concentrates on the plasma gun wielder now, and he simply comes apart under the weight of laser fire striking him. The PDF take out a couple of Rebels and come upon the enemy rearguard and their point of entry, a huge hole in the rear wall which leads into the production lines that we totally failed to clear. Several PDF men go down, but they respond in kind, felling a couple of officers and some flamer troops. A squad of rebels advance on them, but accurate defensive fire from the Last Chancers soon takes care of them. The remaining pair are gunned down by the PDF, and they fall upon the attacking force with a vengeance. The Rebels fall like matchsticks, left right and centre. They collapse on each other, over bunks, in pieces. It is a massacre. The Last Chancers hold fire for fear of hitting our allies, but we don't need to keep shooting. The PDF have practically wiped out the attacking force, and soon, except for the occasional pot-shot from a sniper, all is silent as the last vestiges of the Chaos force disappear through their entry point. We have held them off again, but how long can we keep this up?

The next morning, I am in the command bunker with Kilok discussing whether it is feasible to send another fire team into the manufactory. Holix is out supervising the repairs on the trenches and defence lines, so we take this opportunity to examine our options. I take a sip of caf.

"Well, we took heavy casualties last time," I remind him. He nods.

"I'm well aware of that, sir, but we need to clear that factory. We don't want any more night raids like that, do we?" he says, studying some tactical printouts of the forces we have left.

"I know we won't get reinforced for four days yet, but surely we don't want a war on two fronts?" he says.

"Yes, but by sending troops off to clear the factory, we are weakening our defence line, and if there is a frontal assault again, we will have less troops there to defend against it, especially if the fire teams are killed. We don't want an untenable position, do we?" I say. He shakes his head slowly.

"Well...we've always got Samarchus' contacts," he says, putting the printout down on the table.

Holix comes in, brushing snow off his jacket and pocketing his gloves. He takes up a mug and fixes himself a cup of caf.

"You know, the barrels of our guns are frozen," he tells us.

"That's great, that's all we need," I say. He nods, taking a swig of caf.

"Yeah, especially considering orbital recon has shown an enemy troop column advancing towards us, ETA 2 hours."

"What? Mechanised?" I ask him. He nods again. I mark this on the tactical map.

"Great. Well, at least there is some good news," he says.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Well, first some bad news. The Battlecruiser _Truthful Justice _is over the other side of the planet right now, so we won't be getting any orbital strikes any time soon. The good news is that we will be getting air support from now on." He drains his caf and plonks the mug on the map.

"The weather has cleared and we've got localised air superiority for the time being. Navy fighter bombers are on standby at one minutes' notice to launch from the carrier _Glory_ in orbit. We can order anything, from a simple strafing run to a fuel-air bomb," he explains, grinning. I can't help it, and I grin too. So does Kilok. We all begin to laugh.

That afternoon, we are all gathered round the map again, plotting our defence for when the enemy arrive in approximately ten minutes. Holix has ordered a carpet bombing run to be held in readiness lest we need it. We have reinforced our defensive frontline with more rear troops and we have shored up our positions. More mortars have been brought forwards, and the servitor guns have been augmented by more infantry heavy weapons.

"Ok, so they are ten minutes away," Holix says. We nod. "Better man the defences." We walk out into the cold.

Our guys are ready. Crouched over their heavy weapons, checking ammo, making last-minute adjustments to their weapon' sights. Mortar teams are sited in pits to our right and left. There is a rocket launcher dead ahead of me, under some camo netting and surrounded by sandbags and empty ammo cans. I see Noil in his position and I nod to him. He nods back. We often dispense with formalities at a time like this. Holix and I shake hands. I do the same with Kilok, and the two old friends embrace.

"Good luck to us all." Holix says. "May the Emperor watch over us." We go our separate ways, they to the left, I to the right. I reach my position, just down the line from an autocannon emplacement and right next to Johnas. Beyond him is Yunak, adjusting her sniper scope. Past her sits Innel, quietly smoking an Iho-stick. Johnas turns to me.

"How long 'till they get here, sir?" he asks. I glance at my chrono.

"About five minutes now," I say, trying to look composed. We're all scared now. We just try not to show it. He nods slowly.

The roar of jet engines interrupts his thoughts and he looks up. I do the same. An antiquated Rebel Scram-jet shoots past. It has tapered wings and two engines in underslung pods below them. One of the servitor guns tracks it. It swings about for another pass. The autocannon opens fire.

The jet is hit just in front of the port wing. Smoke pours from the hole in the fuselage. The gun keeps firing. Parts fly off it as it sweeps low overhead, trying to lose the gunfire which is locked onto it. More shells stitch their way across the wing, blowing chunks of the engine loose. The plane banks left and sideslips down into the snowfield. It explodes, scattering debris across the snow. Several of our men cheer. Then, slowly, the hubbub dies away. All is silent. No sound can be heard...except the grinding of tank tracks from beyond the collapsed overhang.

I hear Holix shout,

"Get ready!" His voice echoes across the silent plain. The autocannon crew cocks their weapon. I raise my lasgun and place it in a crook between two sandbags. Johnas pats Yunak on the back. She raises her gun to her eye and peers down the scope. Innel drops his Iho-stick and stubs it out with his foot as he stands.

"Last Chancers, ready?" I yell. A chorus of voices answer me. They most certainly are. The tank tracks have stopped. In their place I hear the whine of incoming mortar rounds.

"Get down!" I yell, hurling myself to the trench floor. Johnas and Yunak do the same. A round explodes nearby and scatters us with dirt. More rounds go off. I stand up and dash to the trench wall. Peering over the parapet, I see an explosion at the overhang. The Chaos troops have blown the wreckage clear and are advancing. A shell explodes metres from the trench, and I duck. Red hot shrapnel whizzes overhead, and I hear Yunak scream. I turn to her. A sliver of metal is embedded in the snow behind her face. It has passed through her cheek and caused a slight gash. Johnas hurries over to her and applies some disinfectant. I turn back to the battle.

Smoke rounds are being popped off by the mortars now. I can't see the overhang any more. The smoke is obscuring the entire snowfield. Johnas and Yunak retake their positions. Yunak is still rubbing her cheek.

The autocannon nearby opens up into the smoke, hoping to suppress the enemy and score a few lucky hits. I see gunfire to my left, where the PDF men are located. Suddenly, dark shadows loom in the smoke.

"Open fire!" I shout over the din. Las-bolts streak into the shadows, which are now revealed as Rebel soldiers. Several fall, and one is chopped up as he walks into the autocannon fire, but some manage to enter the trench.

Johnas plunges his bayonet deep into the chest of one such solider. He roars in pain and slides off the bayonet onto the floor. Yunak swings her rifle like a club, knocking another flying into the trench wall, where she blasts his face off. A Rebel hurls himself straight at me. I raise my arms to catch the force of him, and we go tumbling to the ground. My lasgun goes rolling away, as does his. His dark red armour is smeared with blood, and his helmet seems to have fused into his head. I try to avoid looking at his face, because his teeth have been replaced with fangs and he only has one eye. In place of the other is a pulsing, hideous red lump that looks like a heart. I catch a glimpse of Johnas being attacked by two Rebels and Yunak going to his aid. I punch the Rebel in the jaw, catching him sideways. He retaliates with a right hook into my face, and it connects. Blood obscures my left eye, and I see he has a knuckle duster on. I heft him up with my knee and roll him off me. He tries a spinning kick as I stand, but I jump over it and draw my las-pistol. One shot through the face and it is over for him. I recover my lasgun and wipe the blood from my forehead. Looking around, I take stock of the situation.

Johnas and Yunak have dealt with the two Rebels, and are helping Innel fend off a wave of charging soldiers. I hear screams from further down the trench and turn to see. Several Last Chancers are running towards us from the right, firing wildy behind them as they come. Something hits one of them in the back and there is an explosion of blood. He pitches forward into the snow.

"What the hell?" Johnas inquires.

The panting soldier replies,

"Chaos Marines!" Yunak's eyes go wide.

"How many?" I yell at the soldier.

"Just the two," he says. "But they're bloody Terminators." Great. Two of the most heavily armed and armoured ground troops available to the Chaos forces are in our trench. Las-fire is still filling the air, but that wouldn't do a great deal against a Terminator.

"On me!" I shout, and run back to the autocannon. I tap the gunner on the shoulder. He looks round.

"Turn this gun around!" I yell at him. He looks at me questioningly. "There are Chaos Terminators coming up the trench!" I tell him. He adopts the same facial expression as Yunak had. Together, the gunner, his loader and Johnas turn the gun around, while Yunak, Innel and I take up their job of scanning the snowfield for targets.

"Here they come!" Johnas yells, taking up a covering position behind the trench corner.

"Stay there!" I shout to Yunak and Innel, who continue to cover the snowfield.

The Terminators' massive footfalls can now be heard. The gunner checks his ammo feed. The first Terminator appears round the bend in the trench. He opens fire.

A line of tracer round stitch across the Terminator's chest. He reels back for a second, then recovers. Johnas and I open fire as well. The Terminator fires in response, his double-barrelled Storm Bolter almost drowning out the autocannon's noise. The gunner falls, spraying his guts all across the trench floor. The loader quickly and efficiently moves to take up the position, while Johnas jumps in as loader. I keep firing at the Terminator's head. A shell goes off on the trench lip, pouring snow down onto us. The cannon opens fire again, just as the Terminator does the same. His aim is knocked off by the impacts, and he misses Johnas by about a metre. The shell whizzes past us and blows up a section of the trench wall further along. The Terminator staggers back as I fire at him again, and the autocannon seems to be punching holes in his helmet now. He drops his power sword and slumps back across the trench wall. One down, one to go. The second Terminator appears from around the corner. I wrench a tube charge from a nearby ammo box and pull out the strip of det-tape. I hurl it at the trench corner.

"Fire in the hole!" I shout. Everyone crouches low. The charge goes off. A fountain of dirt shoots up. Several bits of Terminator armour rain down on us. The smoke begins to clear. The Terminator is still advancing, minus his right arm and Storm Bolter and several pieces of armour. The cannon opens up, as do I, and he falls to the ground, dead.

"Let's fall back!" I say. The loader hefts up the cannon, and Johnas grabs the tripod and ammo belts. Yunak and Innel each take one ammo box, and I take another. We run back to a nearby missile launcher position, passing several dead Last Chancers on the way. The launcher crew are cowering below the parapet as las-bolts strike the trench lip beside their weapon. Johnas and the loader set up the gun just behind the launcher, and we all dump our ammo next to it. I head over to the launcher crew while Yunak and Innel check the next section of trench.

"How are you doing?" I ask them.

"Fine. There hasn't been much activity here, though, except all this damned gunfire," the gunner replies. The loader takes a las-bolt in the neck and falls to the trench floor.

"Damn!" yells the gunner, hopping down from the fire step and picking up his lasgun. Yunak and Innel return.

"Next section is still being held, sir!" Innel reports.

"Thank the Emperor for that," I respond, turning to face the snowfield.

Dead and wounded Rebels litter the ground. Las-fire and autocannon rounds fill the air and knock two more Rebels dead as I watch. One of them is still clutching his lasgun and sprays fire all over the place as he falls.

A Rebel Sergeant is rushing towards the trenches, brandishing a chainsword and a bolt pistol. He has almost reached us when his head is expertly cleaved in two by a bolt of las-fire. I turn, and see it was Yunak who had fired it. I give her a quick thumbs up and she smiles.

There is a sudden increase of fire to my left, and I turn back in time to see a PDF trooper impaled on a power sword, being waved about above the parapet as if he was a rag-doll. I glance over at the new autocannon gunner, who is nervously fingering the belt release mechanism. Looking back at the trench, I see the PDF man has been dumped unceremoniously on the snow by the trench, almost cut in half. Innel has seen the same thing, and he says,

"Emperor protect us, what the hell could have done that?" I shudder to think, but I suspect it's probably more Terminators, and I say as much. He makes the sign of the Aquila.

"Get ready to open fire!" I shout to the gunner. The rocket launcher crewman is standing about, looking out at the battle raging through the smoke from the mortars.

"Get your launcher set up facing down the trench!" I tell him. He nods, and Innel jumps to help him move the bulky weapon. They set it up next to the autocannon. There is more heavy gunfire from down the trench, an explosion, and some screams. Thick smoke is obscuring my view now. I reload my lasgun and crouch behind the trench corner.

Someone comes running down the trench and into view. The autocannon gunner hesitates a moment, thinking it's one of ours, and the Rebel hits him square in the neck with a las-bolt. He falls backwards, gurgling. Johnas takes him down with a quick shot to the stomach. Then, something much larger comes round the corner.

"Terminator! Fire! Fire!" the rocket launcher crewman shouts, lining his weapon up. Before he can squeeze the trigger, the Terminator's storm bolter spits death at him, and his left arm and half his chest fall apart. Blood flies across the trench, and Johnas takes position on the autocannon and fires. Rounds ping off the Marine's armour, leaving nothing but slight scratches. The Terminator comes on, firing its bolter. Flakboard behind me disintegrates and I am showered with dirt. I fire off a few rounds at his neck, throw the lasgun down, then dive for the rocket launcher. The Terminator has reached the autocannon unscathed and tosses it aside. Johnas stands up, lasgun in hand, ready to stab the Marine. But the Marine gets there first, and smacks him in the chest with its bolter. Johnas goes flying backwards and rolls clear as bolter rounds blow chucks of dirt out of the trench floor. Innel is next, being hefted clean out of the trench by the Marine's fist. Yunak offs a hot-shot round at the Terminator's face, and it stumbles backwards under the force of the blow. I quickly line the launcher up and squeeze the trigger. Nothing happens. I try again. The Marine is recovering now. I check the tube and discover the reason for the lack of action; there is no missile in it! I curse the gunner for not even checking this simple thing, and I run for the ammo crate nearby.

Bolter rounds blow the sandbags around the crate to pieces, and I stop dead, ducking as they stitch a pattern in the wall just above me. The Terminator advances, cutting the barrel off Yunak's las-rifle with its power sword. She swears and draws her pistol. She is too late. The Terminator picks her up and tosses her over the trench wall nearest the factory. I look around. Johnas is lying still on the floor. I don't know if he's dead or just unconscious. The Marine keeps coming. It towers over me, standing about 8ft to my 6 3'. This is it, I think. No way out now. No gun, only a pistol which is still in my holster. Nobody around to help me. I'm dead.

The Terminator raises its bolter...I hear the whirring of the firing mechanism as it chambers another pair of shells…and then suddenly something lands on its back. It swings around, but Yunak clings tenaciously on. I see the satchel charge in her hand. She must have got it from a spare crate outside the trench. She pulls the det-tape out with her teeth, too busy holding on for dear life to use other hand. She jams it in the gap between the Terminator's helmet and the body armour. Then she jumps clear. I do the same, scrambling over the trench wall out into the snowfield. I dive into the snow just as the charges go off.

There is a tremendous blast and dirt rains down around me. The empty missile tube slams into the snow only metres from my head.

I stand up and jump down into the trench, not wanting to be a target outside for longer than absolutely necessary.

The trench is a complete mess. Bits of armour and flesh litter the gun emplacement. The autocannon is in pieces, and the ammo crate has gone up as well, leaving burning wood and some bullets popping off every few seconds. I see Johnas, and run over to him. Blood is seeping from his ears, obviously damaged by the sound of the explosion. His uniform is spattered with blood, and his left leg is soaked with it. I tear his survival jacket open and get his field dressing ready. But there's no wound. There's some bruising from when the bolter hit him, but no wound at all. I'm puzzled, until I remember that a Terminator did explode just feet away, and that, underneath all that armour, they have a body as well.

We fought off the attack once again, but at heavy cost. 24 PDF troopers died, with a further 12 wounded. The Last Chancers lost 19 dead and 14 wounded. That leaves us with around 90 able-bodied soldiers to fight off the enemy. Along with this, we lost many of our servitor weapons and several of our manned weapons. Our mortars were wiped out early on, and the weapons were blown by enemy squads. On the plus side, we did show that Terminators aren't invincible.

I enter the medical bay through the sliding doors. Rows of wounded line the walls, some lying still, some taking to their neighbours. Johnas is in here, as is Yunak, who injured her ribs as she jumped clear of the Terminator. I pass her on the way down to Johnas. She salutes and I return the gesture.

I reach Johnas, who is lying on his side drinking some caf.

"Ugh, where do they get this stuff?" he asks, putting the cup down on the floor. I grin.

"No idea, but they certainly don't send it here specially. Or maybe they do…" We both laugh.

"We'll need some serious repairs to the trenches," he informs me. I nod. Even when he's been wounded he still takes up his share of the work. That's one thing everyone admires in Johnas. He's about the most conscientious soldier we've got.

"We'll need to reinforce the servitor guns as well. They took a heavy beating," he continues. I nod, while at the same time observing the goings on in the medical bay. Medics and servitor assistants mill about. Two medics appear to be amputating a PDF soldier's leg on a table at the end of the hall. I guess they've run out of anaesthetic, as he's screaming his head off. Johnas takes another swig of his caf and coughs.

"Emperor, this stuff really is disgusting," he exclaims. I laugh wryly.

"Only the best for the Emperor's finest troops, eh?" Johnas grins. He offers me the cup.

"You want some?" he asks.

"Not if it's as bad as you say it is," I reply. "Well I'd best be off now, we're going to send another team into the factory. We'll be sure to take some heavy stuff this time, though, so don't worry about us," I tell him. I turn to leave.

"Just…be careful in there," he says. "You don't want a repeat of last time, do you?" I shake

"Of course not. That's why we'll be taking Samarchus." Johnas tries to suppress a laugh, but he can't quite manage it.

"What's he going to do? You can't exactly rely on him to decapitate a Chaos marine can you? Be serious. What are you taking him for?" I sit down on the edge of his bed, and whisper to Johnas as if I'm telling him top-secret stuff.

"Well, he says he knows the factory like the back of his hand, and I trust him on that. But he also insists he knows where the Chaos troops are getting in from, and I'm intrigued how he knows," I explain, winking knowingly at him. He looks puzzled.

"So am I. maybe he just knows every possible entry point. I mean, he has been here for, what, seven years was it he claimed?" I nod.

"Or on the other hand, he could be helping them get in," I say. "But then again, I doubt that." Johnas laughs again.

"Well, you'll soon find out won't you? The Emperor Protects. Good luck to all of you," he says.

I think we're going to need it.

"Are we all here? Ok, let's get moving," Holix says. We've assembled another force, stronger this time. There's Holix, ten PDF men, two of whom have flamers and one who has a plasma gun. I'm there, as are Innel, Yunak, Noil, Lond and two other Last Chancers, Galtine and Charis. Innel and Yunak have their customary weapons, and Galtine and Charis have brought an autocannon along. Holix and I have managed to get hold of a chainsword each. Of course, if we all die there will only be 72 soldiers left to defend the factory, but that's not likely. Is it?

I look round at the Last Chancers. Innel nods as my gaze passes over him. Yunak is looking away, and Noil and Lond are deep in conversation.

This time we're going in a different way, coming up on the storage rooms at the rear of the production lines.

Samarchus punches some codes into the door release, and it slides up into the ceiling. The PDF troops enter first, fanning out to cover the corridor. We follow them in, Noil bringing up the rear. The corridor is dank and silent. It looks like it hasn't been used for some time. The glow-globes in the walls are out, and we switch our barrel-mounted torches on. Holix nods to his point-man, and he begins to move slowly down the corridor, checking every alcove he passes. Soon enough, we come to another door. We spread out to clear a path for Samarchus, who bumbles forward and taps the keypad. The door grinds sideways into the wall, and I wince at the sound. We don't want it to give our position away. The point-man enters, scanning left and right. We pile in behind.

We are in one of the multitudinous storage bays that hold the completed weapons. Most of the stock was removed in the evacuation, but there are a few crates scattered here and there. Overhead cranes used to load the crates onto cargo carriers hang down from the roof. Another door to the left leads into the lower level of production lines, while one on the far side of the room heads out back to the shuttle docking bays.

Samarchus indicates the left door is the correct way, and the point-man moves off towards it. But he doesn't get far.

Gunfire erupts from the far side of the room, felling the point-man before he can react. The PDF men dive to the ground, returning fire as best they can. I run over to Holix. I can see shadowy figures moving in the darkness, with the occasional bolt of laser fire shooting towards us. The beam from one of the flashlights catches one in its glare, and I can see it is a cultist. Precision fire from Yunak severs his left arm and he screams out. He tries to run, but the torch follows him round. I snap off a couple of shots with my las-pistol and Holix does the same. The cultist almost makes it to some crates, but a las-bolt hits him square in the back and he pitches forwards.

A great gush of hot air rushes past me as Innel fires off a blast of flame. He catches one cultist, who starts to flail about wildly before one of the PDF men hits him in the face with a las-bolt.

The plasma gunner tracks a target and fires. The cultist evaporates as the superheated ball of energy strikes him.

"Be careful! Don't hit the ammo crates!" Holix yells as a series of las-rounds stitch across a stack of them in the corner. Las-fire fills the air. I fire a couple of shots at a shape moving in front of me. There is a scream and one of the PDF men falls, his face horribly burnt by a las-bolt. Two of his comrades drag him back into cover behind some crates. The cultists have taken cover now, and I have lost sight of them.

"Don't let them flank us!" I shout, even as more fire breaks out to my left. "Too late!" I add, and turn to face the new enemy position. Yunak is already on it, popping off shots as one of the PDF flamer guys lets loose a cone of fire at them. I look around for Holix, but he is nowhere to be seen.

Something looms out of the darkness, and the flamer guy gets two rounds through his torso. Noil runs up next to me and fires. I copy him, and between us we fell three cultists who are rushing our position. Yunak drops another one. I look back to face the original enemy location. As the torches play across the ferrocrete I can see at least four bodies. Another PDF man falls with several bullets in his chest. Then, as abruptly as the firing began, it ceases. An eerie silence comes over the room. Several prone PDF troopers stand up and dust themselves off. Holix and the plasma gunner come around the corner of some crates and approach me.

An inhuman shriek splits the air. I've never heard anything like it before.

"What in the Emperor's name is that?" Holix shouts and I can only just hear him above the noise. I cover my ears and shrug. A stack of crates in the far corner tumble and scatter across the room for no apparent reason. Everyone turns and aims at it. An unearthly glow begins to emanate from the centre of the room. There's nothing there, but still it glows somehow.

"What the..?" breathes Holix. Suddenly, a huge tear appears in mid-air. Purple and red energy spills out of it, forming into tendrils and then reforming into randomness.

"Holy Emperor! What the hell is that?!" one of the PDF men whimpers. He turns and begins to run.

"Stand fast you coward!" Holix yells, aiming his pistol at the fleeing man's head. But before he can fire, one of the tendrils of warp energy shoots out and grasps him around the waist. The man claws for purchase on something, but the ground is smooth ferrocrete and he is inexorably pulled back towards the hole in the fabric of the universe.

"Emperor no! Help me! Please!" the man screams, his face a picture of abject terror. Holix charges at the tentacle and swipes at it with his chainsword. But it goes straight through. The man is getting ever closer to the warp-hole. Holix swears and tries again, but the warp-matter offers no resistance to his revving blade and once again it goes clean through. Realising he has no other choice, Holix raises his pistol.

"DO IT! Please, I beg you!" the man screams. Holix steels himself up, and then pulls the trigger.

The las-bolt burns through the man's head and into his brain, mercifully ending his life before he could be pulled through into the warp, where unnameable horrors would do unmentionable things to his soul.

The ragged corpse is pulled through the tear. Something roars in anger, as if it has been cheated of its favourite toy, which may just be the case. There is a large pulse of energy from the tear, and something starts to climb out of it, into the material universe. It is a large creature, about the height of a Space Marine, but coloured a ghastly red. Blood drips from its raw flesh as it finally drops free of the tear and stands up. The tear expands, and then implodes, leaving the room exactly as it was before- apart from the Bloodletter daemon standing in front of us. It rears its horned head and lets out a mighty bellow that seems to shake the entire factory. The PDF men ahead of me are stunned into immobility. The daemon raises its huge axe and severs one man from head to toe as if it were casually halving a fruit. I see the next man make the sign of the Aquila and open fire. The las-bolts reflect off the thing's thick flesh. It raises its other arm and flicks the man's head from his shoulders, as if it were flicking crumbs off a table. Innel fires a blast of flame at it. It just laughs- an inhuman laugh, perhaps, but still a laugh. It picks up another man and impales him on the end of its axe. The plasma gunner hits it with a ball of energy, and it recoils slightly, hissing in pain. Galtine and Charis open fire with the autocannon. 20mm shells patter like rain against the abomination, and it turns to face them. Holix and I start towards it at the same time.

I fire a couple of shots, knowing instinctively that it's a waste of time. The autocannon is still firing even as the daemon upends the cannon and cuts Charis in half at the waist. Galtine draws his knife and tries to stab the thing, but as the blade touches its body it simply melts. A bolt of energy shoots up Galtine's arm and sets his uniform on fire. He yells in pain and rolls to the side, partly to avoid a retaliatory strike, partly to put out the flames. Las-bolts strike the daemon and rebound off it. I reach it and rev up my chainsword. Holix charges in with a battlecry and takes a swing. The chainsword bites in but can't penetrate its flesh. It turns and flings Holix aside with the merest twitch of its arm. At the same time it uses its axe to cut the legs out from a PDF man. He falls screaming, even as the daemon turns to face me and tramples on his face, crushing his skull like a ripe ploin.

"For the Emperor!" I cry, and stick the sword in the thing's arm. It cries out and jumps backwards, the impact of landing shattering the ferrocrete under its feet. It takes a swing at me with its axe, but I parry it.

The shock is incredible, and I feel like my arm is breaking. The chainsword shatters and comes apart with the impact. Razor sharp teeth that could cut a man in half did nothing to either the axe or the Bloodletter. It punches me and I go flying into some crates. All the wind is knocked out of me and can't move.

I look over at the fight and see Galtine trying to kick the thing in its shins. The futileness of this might make me laugh if it wasn't such a deadly serious situation. The daemon reaches round and pulls his arms out of their sockets. His face goes suddenly rigid, and he collapses in shock.

It seems that nothing can stop the Bloodletter. Even as I watch it slices through the final PDF man's thin body armour and cuts him to pieces.

Then, without any warning, a figure wreathed in coruscating blue energy appears from the entrance to the room. I am confused; who is this? I look closer, and realise, of all people, it is Samarchus. I can't help gasping in amazement; the bumbling techpriest has been transformed into a graceful warrior. Wielding a crackling power sword, Samarchus lays into the Bloodletter, parrying its every attack. Samarchus roars something incomprehensible and a bolt of energy ploughs into the daemon's chest, sending it flying into the wall.

I am open-mouthed with astonishment. Samarchus is fighting with absolute skill. Not only that, he seems to be a psyker of some sort, sending bolt after bolt of energy into the daemon. The power sword is easily the equal to the daemon's axe, and it penetrates its flesh like it was paper. The daemon screams in anger under the relentless assault. It looks like it's having trouble keeping its grip on the material realm, as another tear is opening in the air behind it. Samarchus takes another mighty swing and severs the creature's left arm. It roars in pain and tries to throw the axe at Samarchus. But before it can, it begins to fade away, being sucked back into the warp where it came from. Samarchus gives it one final slash to the face, and it is gone, the tear closing behind it.

"Yes, that's correct. I am Inquisitor Gabriel Samarchus." The now impressive figure of Samarchus stands before me, explaining everything.

"I was sent here by my Ordo seven years ago. It seemed at the time that the Alish system had less resistance to the warp than most other places in the universe, and now that has been proven correct by current events," he says.

I can't believe we were all fooled by Samarchus' disguise as a humble tech-priest. Surely the 'connections' with the Battlecruiser were a sign at least.

It turns out Samarchus is a sanctioned psyker and a member of the inquisitorial Ordo Malleus; the fabled Daemonhunters. And it's a good job for us he is- not only would we have been killed by the Bloodletter but the Chaos attack would have engulfed us without his 'connections'. He, that is, the Inquisitor, turns to face the panoramic viewing window looking out over the snowfield, where defences are being rebuilt and positions strengthened.

"Kage, the situation here is grave," he says, his voice heavy with the gravity of the situation. Tell me something I don't know, I think but don't say.

"We're but two days away from salvation, thanks to the 60th Guverian Dragoons. If we can just hold out until then we will have saved the factory….and your men," he says. I nod appreciatively, knowing how hard it will be to defend out position for two full days. We've had a tough enough time of it already, and now the Chaos troops know what our defences are like. I shake my head slowly, involuntarily.

"The defences MUST hold, is that clear?" Samarchus says. I nod, but I have an unanswered question.

"If you don't mind me asking sir, what's so important about an abandoned weapons factory?" I ask him. He stares at me, steely blue eyes seeming to penetrate my very soul.

"I'm afraid, Lieutenant," he says, emphasising the rank, "That you do not have sufficiently high clearance for me to reveal that information to you." I sigh. I guessed as much.

I sit down on the rickety chair, which creaks under my weight. I'm in the dugout with Holix and Kilok.

"Think we can hold for two more days?" I ask the PDF Lieutenant. He shrugs, turns to look outside, turns back and shrugs again.

"I don't have a clue. It depends what they throw against us, and, from past experience," he pauses, and suddenly looks like he's lost all concentration, "they'll try everything at their disposal." I nod. I can relate to that.

"Well, any signs of them?" I ask Kilok.

"No sir, none for the past few hours," the Sergeant responds. He taps the map.

"Last sighting was here, about 5 klicks west of us," he explains. There were a couple of tanks and a column of infantry spotted, but they've disappeared since," he says.

"Wonder where they went," Holix muses. As if to answer his question with an ear-splitting bang, a shell goes off outside. We all turn in unison.

"Damn it, that's where they went. Get moving!" I shout. We dash outside into the crisp and frosty air. More shells erupt in columns of dirt and smoke, sending lethal shrapnel whizzing through the air as the shells fail to penetrate further than a few centimetres into the frozen ground. I see a mortar-pit take a direct hit, sending dirt clods and men flying about as the ammunition goes up in flames.

"Get down! Get down dammit!" I shout, as I run through the trench system towards my squad. Shells whistle down from the sky and slam into the ground in front of our line. Dirt rains down into the trench. Steam is blown about the place as explosions evaporate snow and rock our defence system. I reach my squad.

They're hunkered down in a gun pit; Noil, Yunak, Innel, Bratak and Harbon. Shells continue to strike the snowfield. One hits a bit too close for comfort and I hear screams from an adjacent gun pit. I crouch down next to them.

"Any signs of an attack?" I ask, slamming a fresh power pack into my lasgun. Noil shakes his head.

"Just the shelling, sir," he shouts over the din that makes his statement rather pointless. I risk a glance over the parapet. The snowfield is littered with shell-holes, coils of grey smoke drifting listlessly in the light breeze. Even as I watched more holes appeared, surmounted by columns of roiling dirt and steam. I ducked back down.

"Keep everybody down until the shelling stops," I tell Noil. He nods understandingly. "Then…be ready for an attack."

I arrive back in the dugout. It's deserted- Holix and Kilok are still with their squads on the other side of the trenches. I can still hear shells whistling down out of the sky and exploding outside. I stand by the fan heater for a few seconds in a pointless attempt to warm up, and then turn to the map.

The large, wrinkled, caf-stained map of the local area is sitting on the table. A few sprinkles of dust rain down on it as a shell goes off close by. I brush it clean with my gloved hand and stare at it. It shows the factory as a large black square; the surrounding mountains are represented by grey craggy lines that somehow manage to look just as mountainous as the actual lumps of rock themselves. We- that is to say, Kilok- has pencilled in our defensive positions as a series of differently coloured lines, dots and triangles. Lines are trenches, dots are gun pits and triangles represent heavy weapons. I pick up a pencil and carefully erase the mortar-pit that was destroyed from the map; just as it -and its crew- was erased from the world a few minutes ago. Something catches my eye as I replace the pencil. A small tunnel leading under the mountains used as an emergency escape tunnel in the event of fire in the manufactory. But we'd already considered that as a potential entry point and Samarchus informed us that it was thoroughly blocked by the workers before they evacuated. I take a look outside, and spot something in the distance. Halfway up a mountain I see a series of black dots that weren't there half an hour ago. I take another look, then check the position on the map. The dots on the steep mountainside are on the path leading to the tunnel….

I turn the corner and almost bump into a PDF trooper.

"Soldier, where's Lieutenant Holix?" I ask sharply. He turns and points down the trench.

"Down there a ways, sir," he responds. I nod in thanks and continue down the trench until I find Holix.

"We've got a problem," I tell him before he can even acknowledge my presence. He turns to me.

"What is it?" he asks.

"The tunnel, at the back of the factory?' He nods slowly. "Looks like they're using it to get in after all," I tell him, pointing up at the mountain. He squinted through the haze. I could tell he had seen the dots moving along when his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Well that is a surprise, I must say," he said, arming his lasgun as he spoke. "I'll head into the factory with my squad. Spread some of your guys out to cover this end, find Kilok and tell him to take command here and then meet me in the barracks with your finest men," he paused, momentarily, before continuing; "and women, in five minutes. We need to defend from a flanking attack."

Entering into the barracks was almost a different world after the bright sunlight outside, amplified by the glistening white snow everywhere. The barracks was dull, dingy and lit only by several sodium glow-globes embedded in the ceiling and walls. When it was empty it often seemed rather imposing and scarily silent. Luckily at this moment in time there were twenty-two people in it- two squads of ten, Holix and myself. As per instructions we had assembled in the barracks, Holix with his PDF troops and the (by comparison) ragged and scruffy Last Chancers; Noil, Yunak, Innel, Bratak, Harbon, Ungel, Dannes, Relk, Trelok and Maynor.

"Everyone here? Ok let's go," Holix says, waving his point man forwards towards the door that led to the storage areas. He opens it carefully and slips through, gun raised to counter any potential threat. We follow him in, single file.

The storage room on the other side of the door is full of empty crates, but empty of enemies. We pass through swiftly, heading towards the tunnel entrance. The point man opens the door to the next room…and loses his face to well placed las-fire. He collapses to one side. The next man fires blindly into the room while he dives out of the doorway. Las-fire flickers around the gloomy storage room, lighting up the dark corners. We move up around the door.

"Damn, they've got us bottlenecked!" Holix shouts. There's only one way into the next room- the security checkpoint for the tunnel entrance- and that's the door right in front of us, being swept with gunfire. Ungel leans round and takes a few pot-shots. I shout across the doorway;

"Maynor! Throw a couple'a frags in there!" He nods and removes two frag grenades from his webbing. Priming them, he shouts,

"Fire in the hole!" and hurls them through the doorway. We hear confused scrambling from the room and shouts of,  
"Grenade!" The gunfire stops as the enemy run for cover. The grenades go off with two loud concussive reports.

"Go, go, go!" Holix shouts, and his PDF men leap into action. Two of them swing forwards into the room, firing as they go. I hear shouts and screams from the room, and the rest of us follow them in. There are two dead cultists on the floor, killed by the grenades, and another one collapses as the PDF men pour fire into him. Two are still alive, however, and I turn my attention to the one nearest the tunnel, who is brandishing a flamer. Bratak and Dannes spot him as well and under our weight of fire his promethium tank takes a hit and explodes, spraying fire all over the man and the tunnel entrance. The other cultist takes a wild shot, wings a PDF man in the stomach, and is gunned down by Relk. The room settles to silence. Smoke drifts lazily about and one of the cultists rolls over, groaning. A PDF man puts a las-bolt through his head, before receiving a bullet to his own face. He collapses and the squad jumps into action again.

A squad of cultists are advancing down the tunnel towards us, firing as they come. A PDF man is struck squarely in the chest and collapses, screaming in pain. I dive for cover behind the security booth, and find myself alongside Holix and Ungel. Las-blasts strike the ferrocrete centimetres above my head. Maynor rolls across from behind a stack of crates and ducks down behind us. I risk a glance over the sill and look down the tunnel.

It is lined with boxes and rusty mining equipment, and six cultists advance towards us, weapons raised and firing. But even as I watched two of them pitch forwards, screaming. I fire off a few quick shots…then the tunnel erupts in a roaring column of flame. I hear screaming and the crackling of burning clothing. Innel moves into the tunnel entrance and fires again, sending the remaining cultist scrambling back the way he came. As he scuttles away around the corner of the tunnel someone yells out,

"All clear!" and we relax. I look around. Three dead PDF men are scattered around the room, along with one wounded soldier, his face contorted in agony as one of his comrades tends to him. I hear the crackle of Harbons' vox set. He raises the receiver to his ear. A couple of the PDF men move up to cover the tunnel.

"Lieutenant!" Harbon calls out. I turn to him.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"The enemy are trying another frontal assault, sir," he says, raising the receiver to his ear again.

"Lieutenant Holix," he says. "Sergeant Kilok wants to talk to you, sir." Holix shoulders his weapon and takes up the proffered receiver.

"Sergeant?" he says. "Yeah...light resistance, nothing major. Four casualties. No, only three dead. You need us back there? No? Ok, we'll scout the tunnel out and rejoin you. Shout us if you need reinforcements. The Emperor Protects. Holix out." He replaces the receiver and turns to me.

"Well…what say we check this tunnel?"

"Get into cover dammit!" Ungel yells. Trelok runs for an overturned portable generator but is shot through the neck and collapses.

"Emperor damn it!" Holix cries. Las-fire and autogun rounds zip down the tunnel, striking the earthen walls and sending small puffs of dirt skittering across the floor. Trelok lies behind the generator, clutching his neck and convulsing madly as blood pours from his wound onto the ground and runs in rivulets down the sloping tunnel.

Innel ducks behind the stack of boxes I'm using for cover.

"I count six of 'em, sir!" he shouts. Bullets ricochet off the generator and smack into a PDF man's face. He pitches forward.

"Can anyone get up this tunnel?" I cry, looking around. The remains of our force are holed up behind crates, barrels and equipment as six cultists left to guard the tunnel entrance pour fire on our position. I see Dannes lying flat below the crest of the tunnel's floor, occasionally raising his lasgun and firing a few shots.

"Dannes!" I call out. He lifts himself up and rolls over to look at me, before a las-bolt finds his head. His face registers surprise for a second, before he slumps down onto his arms, dead.

"Relk!" I shout, trying to find someone who isn't dead.

"Sir! He responds.

"You got your demolitions with you?" I shout over the din. A bullet hits the crates I'm hiding behind and sends a splinter skimming my right cheek. I wince and raise my hand to the wound.

"Yes, sir. Twelve tube-charges," Relk says. I look at my hand. The cut is bleeding profusely.

"Get 'em together and get 'em up this tunnel," I tell him. He looks at my wound before throwing me a swift salute.

"I'll get on it right away, sir," he says, smiling. He enjoys his explosions. I think we all do after this long in the Last Chancers.

More las-bolts shatter a portable light array, sending shards of glass tinkling to the ground. Trelok is now lying still.

"Fire in the hole!" yells Relk. He's taped his charges together in one bundle.

"Get ready to run guys, this is gonna be big!" he yells as he stands and lobs the charges down the tunnel.

As one, we stand, turn, and flee back down the tunnel towards the security checkpoint where two PDF men are covering our rear and tending to the wounded man.

"Get down! GET DOWN!" Relk screams at them. I glance over my shoulder. Several of the cultists are in hot pursuit behind us. One of them fires and the bullet hits Ungel in the shin. He grunts in pain and falls to his knees. I falter in my step. Should I go back and help him or keep running for my life?

"Relk!" I shout. "How long are the fuses on your…?" Before I can even complete my sentence there's a tremendous blast wave from behind us that throws me forwards onto the hard earth floor. The blast wave is followed a fraction of a second later by a roaring explosion and a wave of roiling heat that washes over me. I feel the skin on the back of my neck begin to blister. I hear a deep rumbling as the tunnel collapses behind us. I also hear screams as the cultists are immolated in the fiery blast and crushed beneath tonnes of rock and dirt. A cloud of dust descends over me and particles of earth fall like a fine drizzle as I stand, shake my head, pick up my weapon and stagger into the checkpoint. I look behind me. A thick cloud of dust obscures any view I might have of the destruction wrought by Relk's explosives. I cough as the choking, cloying dust enters my throat. I see Ungel dragging himself towards me, and I extend my arm to him. He gladly takes it and I help him into the room. Looking around, I see the remnants of our force. Five PDF men and one wounded. Relk is there, as are Maynor, Noil, Innel, Ungel, Yunak, Harbon, Bratak and Holix.

"Well," I say. "Samarchus was wrong…the tunnel wasn't blocked…but it is now."

I wince again as one of the PDF medics applies a salve to the wound on my face.

"Keep it clean and it'll heal right up, Lieutenant," he tells me before gathering up his kit and moving on to the next patient- the PDF man who got hit in the gut in the checkpoint, already being treated by the senior doctor. I look up as the doors to the medical bay slide open. Holix steps through. He nods to me before turning to check on his buddy.

I put on my jacket and cold-weather gear and am just picking up my cap when I sense a presence behind me. I turn.

Johnas stands behind me, grinning sheepishly.

"I saw you coming in, and…I thought I'd better see how you are," he says, scratching his neck. I laugh.

"That's why you're here, after all. To look after me," I say, smiling. I place my hand firmly on his shoulder and say sincerely;

"Good to see you're up and about again."

"It may sound clichéd, but I'm glad to be up and about," he responds. I hear swearing from the other end of the bay and I turn. The medics are giving CPR to the PDF trooper with the gut-shot.

"Give him more hydrochlorazine," I hear one of them shout to the orderly standing behind him.

"Doesn't look good for that poor bastard," Johnas says. I shake my head. He's got no chance. I look back at Johnas. His smiling face has hardened into a grimace.

"Well, old buddy," I say to him. "I've got to debrief Samarchus in five minutes. I'd best be off." He nods understandingly. Down the other end the medics have brought out a portable defibrillator and are trying to restart the PDF guys' heart.

"We take many casualties in the frontal assault?" I ask him as I walk towards the doors.

"No, none at all as it happens," he responds. I imagine I look surprised as I turn back to face him.

"Really?" He nods.

"They just charged us. No suppressing fire, no tanks, no more shelling. Nothing. Just a few squads of men charging right into our guns." Odd. Maybe they were relying on their flanking attack to succeed. Well, there won't be any more attacks through that tunnel.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," I tell Johnas. Before I can turn away again he throws me something. I just about manage to catch it. It's an Imperial Aquila pendant.

"Keep it," he says. "Looks like you need it more than I do."

"Well that's our flanks secure, Inquisitor," Holix explains. Samarchus nods as he observes the goings on in the defence line below the office we're in.

"We blocked the tunnel off with explosives and killed about, what, maybe fifteen or twenty cultists." I nod.

Suddenly the door behind us bursts open and Kilok rushes in, sweating despite the extreme cold he's just come from. He holds a message printout in his hand, his helmet is ajar and he's holding his lasgun in his right hand, grasping it by the barrel.

"Sorry for bursting in, sirs," he says, addressing Samarchus as much as Holix and I.

"We've picked up an enemy force about five klicks west of us. They're coming in fast and they've got armour," he tells us, panting and resting his hands on his knees. I walk over to him and take the crumpled message printout. Examining it, I see a swarm of red dots covering the left-hand side of a map of the local area.

"How long?" I ask him.

"Less than an hour, sir," he informs me. Samarchus turns slowly.

"Lieutenants, prepare your defences and prepare your men," he says. "This looks like a major attack. We cannot fail now, not with the Guverians just a day away." He looks at Kilok, who is still trying to catch his breath after running all the way up from the dugout.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Return to your men and ready yourself for the coming storm. We will need to weather it if this system is to remain in Imperial hands." I was heading for the door, but stopped in mid-stride when Samarchus said this. I turn to him.

"What do you mean this system?" I ask, looking at him quizzically. He laughs quietly.

"I suppose the time is right to tell you now," he says. "You included, Sergeant," he adds, glancing up at Kilok as he opens his jacket and removes a data-slate. He beckons us closer and we move in to form a circle around the desk upon which he places the slate.

"Observe," he says, pressing several buttons. A small hologram appears, flickering with static for a second before settling to reveal a picture of a darkened room. He presses another button and lights illuminate the room, revealing a sort of jet black half-arch inscribed with various runes and symbols I can't understand.

"This, my friends, is an Eldar webway gate," he explains. "You are aware of the Eldar, I assume?"

"Yes…perhaps a little too well if you ask me," I reply, having fought them several times in the past. Personally I despise them. They never deal in absolutes, never willing to show themselves or reveal their true intentions until their enemies deal their cards first. Also, they look stupid in their pointy helmets.

"This particular webway gate is located in this very factory," Samarchus continues. "When the factory was build the construction teams found it impossible to remove this gate, being protected by warp fields as it was. My esteemed colleague Inquisitor Elian of the Ordo Xenos was involved in the attempts to remove it."

He looks up at us to see if we are following him.

"As you may or may not know," he resumes his speech, "webway gates are similar to teleporters, at least in that someone with the required knowledge can use them to travel vast distances in seconds. There are gates all over the planets in the Alish system, the Eldar in their infinite wisdom," he says, his voice thick with sarcasm," having constructed them when they occupied this system before the first Imperial colonisation fleets arrived. Gates are placed in strategic locations. They usually form a decoration of the main city squares of the capitals of each planet in the system. The colonists evidently knew nothing of the Eldar."

He pauses again, this time to press another button. The image changes to a map of the Alish system.

"These triangles," he says, indicating the aforementioned shapes on the map, "represent the known webway gate locations. Notice the only one on this planet is here in the factory. We surmise this is where the Eldar had their stronghold on the planet, unlike all the others where we managed to build a city around them. So you see the problem, gentlemen. If Chaos troops take this factory and discover the gates, they could, with the proper techniques, gain access to it and use the webway to strike deep in the heart of the Imperial defences on each planet. With the command structure overwhelmed, as would surely occur within hours of an attack at these points, resistance to the Chaos incursion would soon crumble."

I look at Kilok and Holix. They look rather stunned. I must say I never knew the Eldar were here either.

"So you see why it is crucial we prevent Chaos forces gaining access to this factory," Samarchus says. "Powerful Chaos sorcerers could easily penetrate the gate's defences. So, get back to your men and prepare them. We must hold."

"Here they come!" someone shouts. Dozens of cultists, supported by Leman Russ tanks daubed with blood and skulls impaled on spikes are advancing across the snowfield. Even as I watch, one of the tanks strikes a mine that some of our guys planted earlier. There's a loud report and the left tread disintegrates in a pall of smoke and with a grinding of metal. The tank slews to the left, almost colliding with its neighbour. Small arms fire patters off the tanks' armour. Cultists fall by the squad as our heavy autocannons open up on them, catching them in a withering crossfire. If we can just hold out until tomorrow afternoon, salvation in the form of an Imperial Guard Mechanised Regiment will arrive.

I am standing in the trench next to Noil and Yunak. They're all ready for combat, dressed in their cold weather gear. Night is falling across the mountains, shadows lengthening and the temperature plunging rapidly. A small burner on a crate emits a glow but practically no heat.

Shells explode nearby and streaks of las-fire flash across the field, felling more cultists. One of the tanks fires its main cannon, sending a high explosive shell into our trenchline. There's a series of screams and several secondary explosions as the shell cooks off the power cells of a lascannon. I hear a deep roar behind us and look up in time to see a snow-white Bloodhawk strike fighter streak down out of the low, scudding clouds and pass overhead, travelling low and fast. It is sleek and predatory in its appearance, with a narrow fuselage and short, thick wings and a twin-boomed tail. I watch as two bombs detach themselves from the wing racks and tumble into the massed cultists. The explosions are deafening as the cluster-units erupt in a mass of roiling flame and lethal anti-personnel shrapnel. The cultists fall like wheat, many missing limbs or chunks of flesh. The Bloodhawk comes back for a second pass.

This time two plasma bombs fall, almost gracefully, from the centreline pylon. As the jet roars overhead and pulls up into a steep climb into the clouds, the bombs strike their targets- two enemy tanks. They explode, lighting up the snowfield as if it was midday. The turret of one tank cartwheels through the air, crushing several soldiers on its return to earth. The other tank is turned clean over by the explosion, fragments of armour slicing deadly paths through the nearby troops. Several whoops and cheers emanate from our lines as the enemy armour erupts in cataclysmic fireballs.

"Stay ready!" I shout. "They've still got frag-loads of infantry!" Beside me, Yunak rests her sniper-variant lasgun on the parapet and looks down the scope. I look up again. Masses of cultists and traitors advance slowly in formation across the pock-marked snowfield. I hear a sharp report and a las-bolt whickers into the face of a traitor officer leading a phalanx of heavily armoured stormtroopers. Yunak's hot-shot sniper round enters his head through his right eye socket and explodes it like a ripe onal-fruit. He collapses onto the snow.

I consider patting her on the back, but then I reason she'd only resent me for spoiling her aim. I settle for a, "Nice shooting," then raise my own lasgun and thumb it to single-shot.

I pick my target- a cultist with a rocket launcher over his shoulder and a banner with obscene markings in his hand. I see other troopers falling around him, then I fire.

The las-bolt pierces his flak-jacket and stabs deep into his chest, vaporising his flesh and shattering his ribs. He screams in pain for a fraction of a second, then pitches forwards onto his face, weapon and banner rolling away in the snow.

I don't have any time to feel triumphant, however, because I hear a guttural roar from the Chaos troops. Then they start to charge.

Flicking my gun back to full-auto, I take aim at the charging mass of traitors and pull the trigger. Bolts of light spray into them, supported by others from up and down the trenches, felling dozens. But as they fall more take their place, charging, shouting, firing. A flamer opens up on our gun-pit and I dive for the floor as a wave of burning promethium jets over my head, setting a passing PDF trooper aflame. Yunak and Noil look on in abject horror as the man flails about wildly, his flesh peeling from his roasting body. I raise my lasgun to put a bolt through his face to end his misery, but I'm beaten to it by a solid round that explodes his jaw and sends him cartwheeling into the parados at the rear of the trench. I turn, just in time to see a squad of Chaos troopers reaching the trenchline.

"Shit! Kill these bastards!" I shout. Noil and Yunak react immediately, firing from the hip and felling two. I add another to that tally, stitching rounds across a particularly large cultist wielding a chainsword. A huge explosion rocks the trenches further down. I risk a glance across at the end of the line where the lascannon emplacements are. Correction, make that were. There's a massive column of smoke, based with roaring crimson flames, where the weapons used to be. Debris is still falling from the sky after one of the weapons took a direct hit from a rocket or a plasma weapon.

Getting back to the matter at hand, there are still five enemies advancing on our position, but before I can do anything to reduce that number Yunak fells two with precision shots to the chest. Noil throws a cooked grenade that goes off within a second, decapitating another enemy and making another stumble, shrapnel lodged in his leg. I finish him off with a quick shot to the stomach. The last cultist is felled by massed fire from all three of us, toppling sideways onto the corpse of his headless comrade.

"No time to rest, here comes more armour!" Noil shouts above the din of battle. Never have truer words been spoken- six heavy siege guns are advancing on our position out of the narrow defile, which is also spewing forth yet more heavily armed cultists and even a squad or two of damned Traitor Marines now.

"Alright, you two hold the line here. I'm gonna go and warn the support gunners," I tell them. Yunak nods and Noil throws a quick salute before returning to the killing. I grab a couple of spare clips from an open ammo crate and stuff them into my webbing before double-timing it down the trench towards the missile launcher crews on the right flank. I'm no more than halfway there when one of the siege guns opens fire with its heavy cannon.

I hear the shell roar past. It sounds like a damned dropship passing over. The massive piece of ordnance impacts the snow-covered slope behind our positions, sending a massive wave of steam and chunks of rock skyward. The earth itself seems to crack with the massive discharge, which knocks me to the ground and hurts my ears like an explosive decompression. Clods of dirt fall around me. I haul myself to my feet, pick up my rifle and continue on down the trench towards the heavy weapons. I turn the corner and pass two stretcher-bearers carrying a screaming, blood-coated Last Chancer called Trennal. A large chunk of his chest is missing. As I turn away from him and back towards the missile launchers, another huge blast sends me flying backwards into the slush, cracking several duckboards. A wave of stinging heat washes over me, and I see several chunks of debris rolling through the sky. Something steaming lands next to me. It's a human hand. Standing up and brushing myself off, I realise the heavy weapons emplacements have gone up in flames. Seeing the huge gouts of flame pouring from the launcher-pits, I realise any further progression towards them is utterly futile.

Hearing the grinding of tracks and more gunfire from behind me reminds me that there are still enemy tanks to deal with. I do a quick 180 and head back down the trench towards the spot where I left Noil and Yunak. As I round the first corner, a PDF man flies across the trench and smacks into the back wall. Seeping blood from a steaming bullet wound in his back he slumps to the ground, groaning fitfully. I slide to a stop and raise my weapon.

Two Rebel soldiers emerge from the same gun pit as the man's body and cross over to it. One keeps guard, aiming the other way up the trench, while the second rifles through the trooper's pockets. He groans again, and the Rebel takes a step back. He draws a laspistol from his flak-jacket and puts a round through the man's head. I fire.

The Rebel's head snaps back as if someone is pulling his hair. He squeals and falls to the ground as las-bolts smack into his chest. The other soldier turns, rifle raised. I fill his body with las-bolts. He grunts, drops his rifle and rolls into a foetal position, steam rising slowly from his bloody chest. I step gingerly over the corpses and continue on down the trench. I hear the whistling roar of another siege shell passing over, and once again I'm levelled by the blast wave as it explodes on the slope behind our lines. I jump to my feet and start running. I know we've got to get some fire on those cannons before they can get their aim in properly, or we'll be wiped out. Bullets ping off the metal stanchions of camo-netting as I run past. Las-fire strikes the slope behind the trench and sends up small clouds of steam. I duck instinctively as a series of rockets spiral overhead and stitch small impact craters across the slope. Looking off across the snowfield I see more Rebels and cultists pouring in from the narrow defile. The six siege cannons sit in line formation, engines ticking over, thick smoke streaming from blackened exhaust vents. Even as I observe two of the guns fire. I hear the whistle of the incoming shells and duck as they impact. One hits about two hundred metres further along the trench from me, sending clods of earth skywards. I hear screams, see secondary explosions and flames, and smell burning flesh and cordite.

The other shell goes off a few seconds later in front of the trenchline, immolating several cultists as they advance. Charred body parts are scattered across the glistening snow.

I keep going.

"Noil! Yunak! We've got to hit those siege guns!" I shout as I round the corner into their gun-pit. Suddenly there's a flare of stinging pain in the side of my head as I'm struck by something heavy that sends me to the floor and my lasgun bouncing off to one side. I slam into the duckboards, blood obscuring my vision. I roll over in time to hear several las-bolts slamming into the floor just centimetres from my head. I roll forwards, wiping the blood from my face as I do so. Standing and turning in one swift motion, I see a cultist in red robes and a twisted, rusty face mask about to swing a stocky laspistol at me. I flick my left arm up and grab the man's wrist, twisting it until it snaps. He cries out in pain and drops the weapon. I push him backwards and reach for the fallen weapon. Before I can reach it, something grasps me round the waist. I feel hot breath on my neck, and smell blood and various pungent aromas. I struggle over to the side of the gun-pit and back up hard against it. I hear the crack of flakboard breaking, and the man on my back grunts as the wind is knocked out of him. I bring my arm up and elbow him in the face. I feel the crack of his nose snapping. He shouts something unintelligible and starts coughing as blood from his smashed nose trickles into his mouth. I swing round with a left hook which catches him off guard as he nurses his injury. The punch sends the cultist back into the gun-pit wall. I follow through with a quick knee to the stomach that sends him sprawling on his back, groaning. I hear movement behind me and turn. The first cultist has recovered from his broken hand and is drawing a curved warknife from his belt. I reach for my own, but his is out first and he lunges. The knife catches my right arm and I curse as it bites into my flesh. But the man's headlong rush has left him off-balance, and I stick my foot out. The extra nudge from my foot sends him tumbling down. His knife goes clattering away, and I ready my own. Out of the corner of my eye I see the second man regaining his feet and looking around, dazed, for his comrade. I quickly finish the cultist off by stabbing the knife into his back before he can stand. He dies silently as my knife cuts into his spinal cord. The second man sees me and starts running. Bad move. I hop out the way- but my knife stays extended. His eyes go wide, and he seems to adopt an almost regretful facial expression, before sliding off my knife, blood spurting from the gash in his gut. I wipe the blade of my weapon clean on my trousers and sheath it before picking up my lasgun and looking around. There's no sign of Yunak and Noil- no bodies, no weapons, nothing. The siege cannons fire in unison, a heavy, rolling thump that reverberates around the snowfield and vibrates me to the marrow. I duck below the parapet as the shells come over. They all pass the trenches, pass the slope, and hit the rocky plateau in front of the manufactory. The explosions send clouds of dust and smoke into the atmosphere.

I head out of the gun-pit and continue down the trench, searching for either Noil and Yunak or a working missile launcher. I find the latter first.

Tapping the PDF gunner on his shoulder, I tell him to target the nearest siege cannon. He turns to look at me. His face is coated in dirt, grime and blood. There's a large gash running down his left cheek.

"I'd love to, Lieutenant, but I don't have any Emperor-damned rockets," he tells me. I shake my head.

"Where's the next launcher up?" I ask him. I think he can hear the urgency in my voice because he instantly points up the trench and says,

"'Bout fifty metres up there, sir. But I doubt they've got any rockets neither. They ain't fired in a long while." I nod, thank him, and start back up the trench.

As I turn the corner I almost run straight into Noil who's crouched in the middle of the trench, fumbling in his belt for his field dressing.

"Noil! What the hell are you doing?" I ask him. He tugs the dressing free, stands, and turns to me. Over his shoulder I can see a body on the ground. It's Relk.

"Medic up!" I shout, as we put Relk gently down on the nearest free bed in the medical bay. He's screaming and convulsing. A corpsman called Salen runs up, holding a bundle of equipment in his hands.

"Where's Doc Tarran?" I ask him. He shrugs.

"Dead, I guess. I haven't seen him since he went out to the frontline. Where's he hit?" he asks, removing a dressing from his kit. Noil steps forward.

"Las-bolt to the chest," he tells him. Salen nods grimly. He pulls open Relk's jacket. The wound is clean, like most las-wounds. It's clean, but it's still killing Relk. The corpsman removes a syringe from his kit and jabs it into Relk's chest. He coughs violently and moans. The corpsman looks up from his work and shouts,

"Drannik! Gimme a hand here!" I see another medic start down the bay towards us. Relk coughs again and kick out with his legs. His skin is pale, and as we were carrying him in his hands felt clammy. His breathing is weak and ragged. The other medic, Drannik, arrives.

Salen checks Relk's breathing through a stethoscope hung around his neck.

"Looks like a pulmonary oedema," he tells Drannik. "Get me breathing equipment _now_." Drannik rushes off to the supply cabinets on the far wall of the medical bay. Seeing Noil's blank look, Salen explains,

"Fluid in the lungs. We need to drain it." Drannik comes back with an oxygen mask attached to a bag.

"Begin artificial respiration," Salen tells him. Drannik nods and places the mask carefully around Relk's head. Relk coughs fitfully and slumps down, breathing weaker than ever.

"Shit," swears Salen. He checks Relk's pulse.

"Nothing," he shouts to Drannik. "You," he says forcefully to Noil, "take over from Drannik. Compress the bag every two seconds. Drannik, CPR, _stat._" Salen runs for the portable defibrillator resting against a bed further down the ward. Noil moves into position and begins pumping air into Relk's lungs. I glance up the ward. Almost the entirety of its occupants are watching the desperate procedure, including Johnas. I nod to him before turning back to Relk.

Salen has returned with the defibrillator and is fitting the pads to Relk's chest. Drannik relieves Noil. An explosion outside shakes the building and sends dust pouring down from the ceiling.

"Stand clear!" Salen shouts. Drannik removes the mask and takes a step back.

"Clear!" He presses the button on the paddles and sends a jolt of electricity coursing through Relk's body. He checks his pulse again.

"No pulse. Charging…stand clear!" He shocks Relk again.

"Come on Relk, you Krassian bastard," Noil breaths.

"Still no pulse. Charging…clear!" More electricity should jolt Relk's heart back into normal rhythm. Salen checks again.

"Still nothing. Once more?" he asks grimly, looking at me. I nod, then turn to face the rest of the ward. I see faces looking inquisitively at me. I shake my head. Salen shocks him again.

"He's gone," Salen informs us. "Time of death…20:14 standard." I turn back to face Salen. His face seems to be a permanent grimace, as it hasn't changed since we came in. I guess that's what seeing so much death does to a man. I look at Relk's pale, cooling corpse. His mouth is half open, slack, and his eyes, a bright piercing blue, seem to be staring into my soul. I look at Noil. Tears are welling in his eyes. Relk was his best friend in the Regiment. Now he's dead.

Outside, the attack is still underway. The siege guns are still pounding at our line. Infantry are still advancing across the snowfield, being gunned down by heavy weapons as they come. The difference is, night has fallen. The only lighting is from the flickering las-fire and flashes of heavier cannons. As I step out of the medical bay, which I now notice smells strongly of disinfectant, I hear the _crump, crump, crump _of the siege cannons. The shells roll in and explode near or on the trenchline. Noil emerges and stands next to me.

"Let's go," I say, picking my way down the steep slope to the trenches.

The first person I meet in the trench is Holix.

"Kage! Where in the Emperor's name have you been?" he asks. I look at him, stony-faced.

"Watching one of my men die," I tell him. He looks at me quizzically before saying,

"Who...who was it?"

"Relk. The demolitions man. He blew the tunnel back there," I say, jerking my thumb back over my shoulder in the direction of the manufactory. Holix nods, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

"He was a good man," I say, as a series of explosions rocks the trenches. I hear someone shout,

"They're advancing again!" Holix nods again and begins to run towards his position. I do likewise, Noil following. We pass several dead Last Chancers and PDF men lined up in one rear gun-pit, some draped with sheets, others with their contorted faces and shattered bodies clear to see.

As we reach the gun-pit where Yunak is popping off shots at fleeting shadows in the night, a shattering blast demolishes a large section of our line further up towards the factory. It lights up the snowfield as if it were day. The vibrations and blast wave nearly knock us off our feet.

"That didn't look good," Noil says, smiling ruefully.

Magnesium flares burst into brilliant incandescence in the sky, descending slowly from grav-chutes. By their off-white glare, I can see waves of cultists and Rebels advancing, backed up by rumbling, snorting tanks and short, bulky half-tracks mounting lascannons and stubbers.

"Oh Emperor…" groans Yunak. A second later a cultist loses his head as she fires.

"Open fire!" I roar, taking aim and felling a cultist with a shot to the neck. Noil stands up on the firing step next to me and shoots. Three of us against the Archenemy, it seems. Flashes of las-fire whicker across the open space, dropping several Rebels who are trying to set up a heavy bolter.

"Where are our heavy weapons?" I shout, as the enemy armour swings round to bring their cannons to bear.

"All destroyed, sir," Yunak yells back. I curse under my breath. We've got nothing to stop this assault with. I turn, gun raised, as I hear someone clattering round the corner behind me. It's Holix.

"Kage! We can't hold them off any longer. The armour," he gestures at the approaching beasts, "can't be stopped now. All our anti-armour is gone. We need to fall back." As if to illustrate his point several of the tanks fire off crackling gouts of flame from hull-mounted flamers.

"Ok," I say, standing up. "Noil, get back there and tell the medics to evacuate the wounded into our barracks. Holix, pull your men back to the factory entrance. We'll cover you as best we can." He nods and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Appreciated. You're a good man, Kage. Hell, you're all good men. And women," he adds, glancing at Yunak who is still firing at the encroaching tide.

"Ok, get moving. Yunak! On me!" I say, as Holix salutes and bounds off down the trench. I clamber up onto the slope behind the trench, raise my gun above my head, and shout,

"Last Chancers! Covering fire for the PDF! Fall back in sections, ten at a time. Head for the factory entrance and regroup there. Good luck!" A roar of approval greets my orders, and the Last Chancers begin firing with renewed vigour. I see dozens of cultists fall, but yet more are emerging from the defile. The tanks open up, heavy bolters chattering, cannons thumping. Sections of sandbag wall collapse under the withering fire. Men twist and fall violently. Others explode. The siege guns fire again, and our line crumbles. The PDF start fleeing for the manufactory.

"Keep firing!" I shout. "Get ready to fall back on my command." The PDF troops sprint up the slope towards the manufactory, some taking pot-shots over their shoulder at the cultists and Rebels now jumping down into the trenches. One of the half-track lascannons fires, and I see a PDF man instantly atomised by the bolt of light. The Rebels in the trenches pour fire into the fleeing soldiers. Several fall; others are hit but carry on. A tank blasts off a shell that explodes in the midst of the rabble. Men spin around and collapse. Others lose limbs and cry out before pitching forward and lying still in the snow. I see a couple of flamer tanks advancing on the Last Chancers.

"Fall back! Back to the factory entrance, go!" I roar. As one the Last Chancers turn and begin a systematic retreat. The flamer tanks fire and catch a couple of men in their fiery blast. They go down wordlessly for a change. Some of the PDF have reached the manufactory. Bullets send up puffs of dirt and snow nearby, and I decide it's time to be leaving. I fall in behind Innel and Maynor. Yunak is right behind me. Looking ahead I can see the medics carrying wounded soldiers out of the infirmary and into the manufactory. Noil emerges, helping Drannik stretcher a legless PDF trooper out into the cold. Before they can get ten steps from the doorway shells from the siege guns smash into the ferrocrete walls of the medical bay. There's an almighty bang and the wall erupts outwards, sending huge chunks of ferrocrete rolling across the snow like children's toys. A wall of flames and roiling smoke blasts skywards, and Noil and Drannik are hurled to the ground, the stretcher case rolling down the slope, screaming. I change direction and head for Noil, who's picking himself up. Drannik stays down. I run into a crouch next to him and check him. He's dead- shrapnel in his back.

"Are you ok?" I shout at Noil over the sound of renewed gunfire from the trenches. He nods, but he looks vacant and stunned. He's staring past me, over my shoulder at the carnage being wrought down below.

"Get up into cover," I tell him, patting him on the helmet, which is slightly askew after the explosion.

"What about Drannik?" he questions. I shake my head.

"He's dead."

Noil turns and runs up the slope towards the manufactory. Shells go off nearby and send showers of dirt down on my head. I hop down to where the stretcher-case is lying in a slight indenture in the slope, screaming and bawling in pain. Grabbing him under the arms, I begin dragging him up the slope. Las-bolts zip past us. I see Maynor coming back down to meet me.

"Sir! I'll take over. Lieutenant Holix needs you up top," he said. I relinquish my post and allow him to grab the wounded soldier before running up towards the manufactory. I can see Holix in conversation with Kilok. He looks up as I approach.

"Damn good to see you, Kage," he tells me. "Take a look," he says, waving his arm down at the trenches. I turn.

The steaming remains of the medical bay obscure the majority of the trench line from our position outside the manufactory entrance, but I can see a section of trench, wreathed in smoke and backlit by numerous fires. The ragged remnants of the PDF defending the right flank are trudging or slowly running up the slope towards us.

"Forty-two," Holix says. I look at him questioningly. "Forty two able-bodied soldiers left to defend this place," he tells me. The siege guns thump off more shells. Flamer tanks pour fire into the deserted, shattered trenches. Rebels and cultists advance by the squad, clearing the trenches, executing the wounded left behind. It doesn't look good. Not good at all.

"Midnight," announces Noil, looking at his wrist-chrono. The manufactory rocks as more shells pound the frontage.

The remains of the defensive force are holed up in the Last Chancers' barracks and the adjacent mess-hall. The medics have improvised a new infirmary, placing the wounded on the long trestle tables used for meals, which are now stained with blood as well as food. Speaking of meals, Lond is coming round with a crate of ration-packs.

"Dinner, sir?" he asks me, placing the crate on a nearby bunk.

"Is that what you call it?" I laugh, taking a self-heating soup pack and a dry rations box.

"Thanks," I say, as Lond picks up the crate and moves off to where Noil and Innel crouch behind a barricade of overturned beds. I rip open the dry rations and remove the energy bar. Taking a bite, I almost spit it out. It's utterly flavourless. It's like eating water.

"But even water has more flavour." I spin around. Samarchus is walking towards me, threading his way past the piles of kit littering the floor.

"Inquisitor! But...how…" He laughs.

"Remember, Lieutenant, I am a psyker. So be careful what you think about me," he says, winking. I chuckle.

"After what you did, why would I have any reason to bad-mouth you?" I ask him, taking another bite of the energy bar.

"Well," he says, perching on the edge of a bunk. "I have found during my long service to the God-Emperor that Guardsmen are naturally distrusting of anything remotely mysterious, and we," he says, tapping the stylised 'I' on his breastplate, the symbol of the Inquisition, "appear very mysterious to most citizens." I nod. I couldn't agree more. I've always found Inquisitors to be intransigent and, as he says, mysterious.

"Why are the enemy not attacking yet?" I ask him. He looks directly at me, and once again I feel I am laying my very soul wide open to his gaze.

"I suspect they are trying to weaken our resolve by constant shelling before trying an infantry attack. They're either very inaccurate or they don't intend to bury us in the rubble of this factory," he says.

"Do you think they…know about the Eldar gate?" I inquire, finishing off the energy bar and dropping the wrapper on the floor. He shakes his head in response.

"If they did they would be more eager to attack, and most likely there would be a Chaos sorcerer among their number," he explains. Fair point, I think to myself.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud bang from outside in the corridor leading down to the main entrance that shakes the building and sends dust cascading down. I hear the crackling of las-fire and several louder, sharper reports. I also hear the rumbling of tank tracks. Some of the firing gets nearer, and the two perimeter guards we posted come dashing around the corner. One turns and fires off a few shots, but is gunned down by some heavy-calibre weapon. The survivor runs up to us, vaults the barricade, and stumbles to a halt, saluting.

"They've broken...through," he pants. "Blown a hole in the wall big enough…big enough for armour to come through." I can now hear guttural shouts and heavy footfalls.

"What kind of force have they got through?" I ask him.

"Rebels, mostly," he responds, coughing. "But there's a few Marines." The source of the footfalls, I wager. More PDF men move up to reinforce the barricade, shouting orders and cocking weapons. Innel stubs out an Iho-stick and settles his flamer on a bunk. Noil turns and waves Kiyet and Maynor forwards. I pick up my lasgun.

Two Rebels round the corner, guns raised. Their heads are removed with surgical precision by Yunak and Kiyet. Several PDF men start setting up a heavy stubber as the loud footfalls reach the edge of the doorway.

Two Traitor Marines round the corner, bolters already blazing away. The high explosive shells blow holes in bunk-frames and rip mattresses apart, sending clouds of feathers wafting into the air to entangle with the coiling gun smoke. We return fire. Las-bolts patter off their armour like rain, and Innel douses them in flames. They start advancing. A large hole is blown in our defence line as several bunks are shattered and pushed aside by the force of firepower the marines are putting up. A PDF man is struck and his stomach disintegrates in a blizzard of torn guts and a fine spray of blood. I empty my clip into the face of one of the marines. He staggers slightly before recovering and shouting unintelligible drivel through an augmetic vox-unit. I reach into my belt for another clip. The heavy stubber opens up, sending high-powered slugs into the marines. As las-fire pummels him and cleansing fire bathes him in its orange glow, one of the marines succumbs to the array of firepower and slumps to his knees, bolter falling from suddenly lifeless hands. As he rolls slowly onto his side, a squad of Rebels round the corner. Yunak fells one who is brandishing a pair of bolt-pistols and the stubber turns its murderous fire on them. Two fall, cut to ribbons by the spray of lead. But before the gunners can do any more, the remaining marine swings round and fires. The two men are cut down by the shells, limbs being ripped off and blood spraying about the place. Massed las-fire and several grenades being hurled now take their toll, and the marine falls to one knee and attempts to regain his footing. Before he can two hot-shot sniper rounds hit him, one in each eye-piece, and send him sprawling onto his back, dead. I turn to congratulate Yunak and Kiyet, but the five remaining Rebels take up the charge, lasguns raised and spitting death. Puffs of feathers are sent up as las-bolts strike mattresses. A PDF man falls, hit in the chest. Innel stands to use his flamer, but before he can fire he is winged in the left arm by a las-bolt and falls, his bulky flamer unit clattering noisily as it hits the ferrocrete floor. He looks around and, seeing me about to come to his aid, signals that he is alright. I nod sharply and return to the fight.

One of the Rebels is hit by stubber rounds and twists around theatrically, crying out in pain. Maynor and Bratak have taken control of the gun and are blasting away, felling another enemy as I watch. The remaining three go to ground and return fire. I aim and fire, and one Rebel rolls over, clutching at his ruined face. More las-bolts quickly finish off the others, but even as the last one breathes his last another squad come round the corner, and they're not alone. Five Marines advance in step behind them, the horns on their helmets glistening with fresh blood. One of them has a power claw which is wreathed in crackling purple energy. I am interrupted from my viewing by someone placing a hand on my shoulder. Turning, I see it is Johnas, his lasgun in his hands.

"I thought I'd come and help you out," he says. I smile appreciatively.

"Every little helps," I say. "We need every man we can get." I hear shouts, and looking back at the doorway I see the Marines standing in a line, bolters raised, while the Rebels charge with a roar.

"Steady!" Holix shouts. "Hold fire! Wait for it…now!" At his last word a wave of las-fire cuts down several Rebels. I add my own shots to the firing. More Rebels drop, lying in a tangled heap as their comrades turn to flee from the relentless gunfire. As they do so, the Marines open up, bolters roaring and spitting shells. They tear into our barricades, shredding mattresses and ripping bed-frames apart. Two PDF men fall under the rain of high-explosive death. The Rebels make another abrupt about-face and begin charging us again. The stubber begins clattering away, and a Rebel loses his leg in a red mist. He falls, to be trampled under the boots of his comrades. They fire and Ungel collapses in a crumpled heap, his face reduced to a steaming, gory mess. They are almost on us when the stubber rips into them again, sending the last three spinning and tumbling to the floor. The Marines have stopped firing and start advancing. I look around. Holix is trying to regroup the tattered remains of our right flank. Ungel and several PDF men lie dead, and the barricade is in tatters. The Marines clearly haven't failed to notice the effect their gunfire had, as they are advancing slowly but surely on the gap in our line. Las-bolts and bullets ping harmlessly off their armour as they come. The stubber fires again and blows chunks out of the lead Marines' armour. Yunak fires and hits him in the face. He pitches backwards, dead. As one, four bolters traverse and aim at the stubber. I open my mouth to scream, "Get out of there!" but before I can say anything they fire.

Bratak's head caves in as bolter fire strikes him. Maynor folds up and collapses, clawing at a ragged, bloody hole in his guts and missing one leg. The stubber is hit and explodes into a mass of flames, sending the bodies of the erstwhile gunners spinning across the floor into the bunks behind them. Flaming shrapnel rains down, setting some bunks afire. Another PDF man who is running to support the right flank is hit and sent flying forwards as his back splinters into pieces and gore splatters across the ferrocrete. Harbon and Oril are manhandling an autocannon up to the front. We return fire. I'd like to think we're giving the Marines as good as we got, but that's simply not true. Our bullets and las-bolts have no effect. Noil sprays promethium over them but they keep coming. They fire again and two more PDF men fall to the ground. Oril is loading the autocannon, but before she can slam the belt-feed home she is cut in half by bolter fire. As she falls in two separate directions Harbon tries to finish the procedure. He almost succeeds and is just about to fire when his chest erupts in a geyser of blood and shattered bone fragments and he is flung backwards.

"Bloody hell!" someone shouts. The Marines are at our line. More bolter fire kills two PDF troopers running for cover. I look around, desperately, for something to slow the Marines' advance with. Holix draws his chainsword and hits the power stud. It roars into life, bucking and spluttering in his hands. I do likewise. The lead Marine pushes the ruined frame of a bunk out of the way and steps on Ungel's lifeless corpse, crushing his ribcage with an audible crack and grinding of bone. His bolter swings around and begins chattering away, sending a Last Chancer flying backwards into some mattresses. Holix charges in with a battlecry and severs the beasts' arm wit his chainsword. Blood spatters across his face as he lays into the Marine, cutting bloody gashes into its power armoured frame. The next Marine in line raises his gun to fire, but Yunak nails him with a sniper round and he stumbles blindly, his helmet shattered and blood pouring from his eye sockets. He roars in pain and anger, and Kilok raises a plasma pistol I didn't know he had and finishes him. The superheated ball of energy slams into the flailing Marine and melts through the remains of his helmet. He collapses onto the ferrocrete, the impact vibrating the floor under our feet. Holix delivers a killing blow to the first Marines' chest and turns to face the rest of them.

I run over to him. If we die, we die together. I see Yunak, Johnas, Kilok, Innel, Noil, Kiyet, a couple of dozen PDF and Last Chancers, and Samarchus. I had almost forgotten about him in the chaos. He catches my gaze and nods. I return the gesture and rev my chainsword.

The three remaining Marines, bedecked in the armour of the World Eaters chapter, foul sigils and runes engraved in their carapaces, eye pieces glowing a dirty red, have formed a line, bolters raised. The one with the power fist is in the centre, and he seems to be an even more imposing presence than the others.

"Fire!" Holix roars, but Samarchus raises an arm.

"No! Hold your fire," he shouts, contradicting the Lieutenant. Holix, incredulous, turns to face him. The Inquisitor returns the stare before addressing the Marines who seem to be waiting for something to happen.

"I am Inquisitor Gabriel Samarchus. What is your purpose?" he says. The power-fisted Marine steps forward.

"I am Captain Manlar, of the World Eaters. Normally we would not bargain with the foolish pawns of the false Emperor, but we have been suitably…impressed," he says in a flat, harsh tone, choosing his words carefully, "by your defence of this manufactory. We have been instructed to give you the chance to surrender now. If this is the path you choose, we will grant you a painless death," he continues.

"And if we refuse?" Samarchus retorts, his hand moving to the hilt of his power sword. The Captain snorts derisively.

"Do I even need to elaborate, Inquisitor?" he says, pouring malice into every word he speaks.

"No. I believe you do not," Samarchus finishes, drawing his sword, flicking it into action and beheading the Captain in one swift movement. The remaining Marines take a step back, training their bolters on the Inquisitor. Before they can fire, they both receive a hotshot round to the face. As the headless body of the Captain twitches and falls, his two comrades join him on the cold floor.

At the sounds of gunfire two squads of Rebels round the corner. I see a scattering of heavy weapons and several large banners. Even as these squads clear the threshold of the room another squad appears. Behind them I hear the rumble of tank tracks.

"Ah shit," swears Noil, as a Rebel AT-8 tank clatters into view.

The tank is squat and narrow, probably the only armour that could fit through the hole blown in the wall. Nevertheless, it's still more than enough to wipe us out if it gets a chance. It mounts a long-barrelled smooth-bore cannon on the turret and a heavy stubber in the bow. A pintle-mounted plasma gun rotates and focuses on us, controlled by remote from within the tank. The turret cranks round, traverse motors whining. Dirty grey-black smoke pours from the twin exhaust vents as the driver guns the engine to drag the tank into full view.

Holix turns to me.

"Well Kage," he says. "Looks like we're buggered."

The tank grinds into the barracks, knocking a chunk out of the wall as it sideswipes it. The Rebels form up around and behind it, allowing it to lead the attack in. We've got nothing that can even touch it, let alone destroy it. Our heavy weapons were abandoned in the snow and the trenches as we fell back. Likewise our explosives.

"Back!" scream Holix. "Fall back to the production lines!" I don't give the enemy a second glance as I turn and follow the Last Chancers, sprinting towards the back of the room, which seems twice as long as it ever did before. I can hear the tank's tracks clanking, the engine revving, the turret whining as the barrel adjusts its elevation. I keep running.

Kilok runs past me, panting. His PDF training obviously didn't ingrain physical fitness that much. Suddenly there's an almighty bang from behind us, the momentary whistle of overflying ordinance, and a huge explosion ahead that shakes the whole building and sends out a massive pall of ferrocrete dust and bits of bunk bed. The leading PDF man takes shrapnel to the face and rolls forwards. I see another man stumble as razor sharp fragments of shell casing slice through his calf. As some of the dust cleared slightly I could see a large chunk of wall was missing, scattered across the room and coating us all in fine particles as we run through the cloud. The doorway into the assembly lines and production facilities beyond is intact and opened as the first PDF guys reach it. I hear shouts from the Rebels behind us and scattered lasbolts flicker overhead. A couple of Last Chancers spin round and return fire. I'm almost at the door when the tank fires again.

I flinch instinctively as I hear the shell come over, then the entire room seems to explode.

I'm flung to the floor amidst a hail of shrapnel and bodies. Screams fill my ears as I roll over. I try to stand up, but the concussion has me and I fall to the floor again, coughing as dust enters my lungs. I can hardly see. I scramble forwards blindly through the smoke, trying desperately to get out of the barracks before the tank fires again. I've lost my lasgun, and my cap. My chainsword is still on my back, though, so that's some comfort. What's not so comforting is that I can hear the tank's engine getting louder every second. I scramble forward with renewed vigor. That damn thing is going to crush me. The sound of its clanking tracks is overwhelming. I still can't see anything. I try rolling to the side, but something is blocking me. As the sound of the tank reaches a crescendo of grinding gears and screeching tracks, something grabs me by the shoulders and begins dragging me. I cry out, still unable to see. The tank sounds like it's stopped now, as I'm dragged through the doorway into the room beyond. Gasping and coughing, I get to my feet and look around. Johnas has dragged me clear. The room is full of the tattered remnants of our defense force. There aren't many of us left now. I see Yunak, Noil and Lond covering the doorway. Holix and Kilok are checking on their PDF men. Samarchus seems to be somewhere else, like he's deep in meditation or something. I see others; Kiyet, Holden, Normens, Ransler and Boyte. There are 25 of us in total- not much at all, and I doubt if it'll be enough to hold off the enemy for any length of time. I hear a warning shout from Noil, and I spin round in time to see two Rebels coming through the door being gunned down.

"Someone block that door!" orders Holix. Two PDF troopers spring into action, toppling a nearby stack of crates in front of it.

"That won't hold them for long," he says. "Fall back to the inner storage area. If we can't hold that we retreat to the shuttle pads. After that…there is no more falling back." He walks over to me as around us men and women scramble to fall back to a more defensible location.

"Are you alright, Kage?" he asks. I nod.

"I'm ok," I assure him.

"Let's see about getting you a weapon," he says. "Marnik!" he shouts to a burly PDF man wielding an autogun.

"Sir!" he responds.

"Break open one of these crates and get the Lieutenant a weapon," Holix says.

"Yes sir," says Marnik. He draws his bayonet from his webbing and slides it under the lid of one of the crates. A swift jerk and the lid comes free on one side. Marnik reaches into the crate and removes a shiny new Mark-9 lasgun.

"Here you go, Lieutenant," he says proffering the gun which I gladly accept.

"Still got your ammo?" Holix asks before I can thank Marnik.

"Most of it," I say, loading a fresh power pack as I speak.

"Right, let's go," he says, taking off for the exit. I follow close behind, with Marnik bringing up the rear. We jog through into the next room; a vast storage area which is now devoid of crates, and so by definition devoid of useful cover.

"Keep going!" Holix shouts, seeing the troops have stopped and are milling about. As one they turn and proceed through the next doorway into another cavernous warehouse. Looking up, I am reminded of an Ecclesiarchy cathedral, with a high, vaulted ceiling inscribed with Gothic texts and gargoyles bathed in shadow. There are some scattered crates and power lifters here.

"Hold up here," Holix says. "We'll hold them off for as long as we can."

"Here they come!" someone shouts. Rebels begin pouring through the doorway. We open fire, and bring them down in squad-loads. Precision shots from Yunak and Kiyet fell several, Innel sprays more with burning promethium, and las and solid fire from the rest of us drop the rest. More come and are gunned down with almost contemptuous ease. We have them in a bottleneck- the only limiting factor is when we run out of ammo, as the crates in this warehouse only contain guns. Another couple of squads come running in, but they are in single file and stepping over the bodies of their comrades, so they make easy targets. Within a few seconds they're all dead without even having a chance to return fire. Suddenly the wall to the right of the door collapses inwards with a bang, rubble cascading down as Rebels come storming through.

"Damn it!" Holix says, as the Rebels take up the attack from two entry-points. What was easy is now hard, as the steaming hole in the wall where they blasted their way through is wide enough for two squads to come through at a time. Indeed there's a veritable torrent of heretics sweeping through the gap. I line up a shot but before I can fire the man's head explodes in a gory mess. I switch targets and empty an entire power pack on full-auto into them. I see at least two kills, but it's hard to tell as there are so many of them dying, but even more charging in. The floor is littered with bodies and discarded weapons. There must be over a hundred dead, and still they come, wave after wave of screaming cultists, heretics and traitors. I see the occasional officer with a sword and a cap, but they're simply going with the flow, having no control over the seething mass of scum heading for us.

"We can't hold them!" someone shouts.

"I'm on my last clip!" says someone else. A roaring horizontal pillar of fire engulfs a large group of enemies as Innel empties the last of his tanks at them.

"Out of gas!" he yells, as the nozzle sputters and dies. He shrugs his tanks off and draws his lasgun, squeezing off shots into the Rebels. For every one that dies, ten more take his place, charging in, guns blazing. A PDF man dies under a hail of bullets. Holden pitches forward, screaming as his face bubbles away as he is struck by a lasbolt.

"Fall back! Back to the shuttle pads! For the Emperor's sake, fall back now!" Holix roars above the din of combat. The never-ending tide of Rebels keeps coming as we begin to fall back. A fairly orderly retreat breaks into a run as the Rebels storm over our positions, engulfing the corpses of the PDF man and Holden in an all-consuming mass of humanity. Lasbolts and bullets fell two more PDF men as we flee. Finally we reach the huge loading bay doors, and the smaller personnel hatches for the ground crew, and escape into the freezing outdoors.

It's just as cold as I remember; only now the sky is lit by the glimmer of dawn. Taking a swift glance at my chrono I see it's almost six in the morning. Scudding clouds obscure my view of the sky, and these are underlit by the flashes of distant explosions. I assume the capital, Advacus, is suffering another artillery barrage.

Normens, Boyte and Ransler are fighting a desperate rearguard action as they emerge from the manufactory. Kiyet, Noil and Innel run over to join them.

We are on the shuttle landing pads; there are two, each one ringed by retractable blast fences which are currently down. The beacon lights on the pads are off, as are the arc-lights that are mounted on tall poles in the four corners of the landing area. Beyond the pads, crates, heavy-lift machinery and cranes, is a low fence and then a sheer, vertical cliff that seems to drop away into infinity, the bottom of it obscured by a near-permanent icy mist.

"Take up defensive positions!" Holix shouts. "There will be no more falling back. We hold them here, or we die."

This simple truth strikes home as everyone looks around, searching for somewhere to fall back to. But there simply is nowhere else. Kilok and Holix marshal their PDF men-down to eleven now-into a frontline, crouching behind empty crates and stacks of loading pallets. Samarchus climbs up on one of the landing pads and surveys the area. Noil, Johnas, Innel, Kiyet, Boyte, Lond, Normens and Ransler come sprinting over to me as Rebel vanguards came through the doorway. Holix roars a command, and las-bolts take the Rebels' heads off.

"Get ready!" I shout, as more Rebels charge through the doorway. Several fall immediately, while the rest crouch or lie flat and returned fire. I raise my lasgun and fire a couple of shots, as do Noil and Johnas. One of the Rebels screams and falls backwards, clawing at his face.

"Got one!" Noil shouts. Before I can reply, two Rebels appear on the roof of the warehouse and open fire with a short-barrelled stubber. Two PDF men are cut down by the heavy slugs, and Kilok and Holix dive for cover as the gunners traversed the weapon towards them. Kiyet responds instantly, a las-bolt searing through the air and slicing through both Rebels, sending them tumbling off the roof. Standing, Holix signals his thanks before turning back to the enemy.

Four Rebels have taken cover behind a cargo lifter and are taking pot-shots at us, while two others are advancing on us, using crates as cover. A long-handled stick grenade tumbles over the crate I am crouching behind.

"Grenade!" I shout, vaulting over the crate and diving flat. There is a bang, and splinters of wood wicker through the air. Raising my head, I notice that I have fallen into cover behind a haphazard pile of servicing equipment, rather than diving headlong into the open. I thank the Emperor for my luck, then stand and survey the scene.

Johnas and Noil are flanking the Rebels behind the cargo lifter, sneaking towards them crouched low behind cover. I can hear sickening screams from the Rebels' positions. I hear footsteps approaching rapidly from behind me. Turning, I see Yunak, Innel and Samarchus running across the ferrocrete towards me. I wave them into cover and they crouch beside me.

"Kage," Samarchus begins. 'It doesn't look…too promising, I must say. At least that tank hasn't followed us; that's something, at least." A new intensity in the firing made me look up.

Johnas and Noil have knocked down three of the four Rebels behind the lifter, and the last one is fleeing when he is hit square in the back by a las-bolt and goes tumbling across the floor. There are several sharp explosions to our right. The wall of the warehouse bursts outwards, and the squat shape of the Rebel tank comes ploughing through the rubble.

"Looks like I spoke too soon," Samarchus says, as the stubber on the tank opens fire.

"In the pict-films at this point," Johnas says, "we'd be just about to get overrun by that tank when a squadron of Lightnings would swoop down and blow it to pieces." No such luck for us. The tank fires its main cannon, and a stack of boxes disintegrates, along with the PDF man hiding behind them. The stubber kills another. Noil and Johnas advance on the vehicle, cutting down the last two Rebels behind the crates. Their success is short-lived, however, as another squad of Rebels follows the tank through the hole it created.

"What the hell do we do, sir?" Yunak shouts over the din. I watch the tank flatten some barrels as it advances on the remaining PDF men.

"There's nothing we can do against that," I respond, even as Johnas and Noil mow down most of the Rebels who followed the tank.

"Nothing you can do, indeed," Samarchus joins in. "But there might be something I can do." I watch in amazement as he breaks from our cover behind the landing pad and sprints for the tank. As he approaches he draws his plasma pistol and fires at the Rebels, now cowering behind some pallets out of Johnas and Noils' view. The top half of one Rebel vanishes in a cloud of purple vapour and superheated blood. The other goes down as the plasma energy removes his face. Samarchus unsheathes his power sword and flicks the power stud. Instantly the blade is wreathed in pulsating blue energy. He charges at the tank and drives his sword home.

The powered blade easily slices through the thin side armour of the vehicle as if it was made of flesh and blood. Samarchus slides the blade across the armour towards the engine block. As it finds its target, a puff of black smoke surrounds Samarchus, and the tank's engine coughs, splutters and dies. Samarchus removes the sword and jumps up onto the tank, climbing onto its turret and digging the sword into the commander's cupola. Unfortunately he is too late to stop the stubber blowing bloody chunks out of another PDF man. Roaring with effort, Samarchus peels back the cupola hatch and pulls a plasma grenade from his belt. Flicking the pin out with his thumb, he hurls the grenade down the hatch and jumps clear. A few seconds later, there is the muffled crump of the detonation, and a gout of flame and smoke blasts out of the hatch. Striding back towards us, Samarchus turns off and holsters his sword. I am open-mouthed in astonishment.

"Guess we don't need the Navy to save us," Johnas says.

As if to outline just how wrong he is, another squad of Chaos Marines appears through the hole in the wall, followed by more rebels.

"How many of them are there?' despairs Holix, raising his lasgun again. I do likewise, realising I only have one more power cell.

"Make every shot count!' I yell, firing once and downing a rebel armed with a shotgun. The firing begins anew, Yunak and Kiyet felling a Marine with hot-shot rounds, Noil and Innel flanking to the left behind the landing pad. Two Rebels try to set up a missile launcher but are mercilessly slaughtered by concentrated las-fire. I see Lond, pinned behind a stack of pallets with one of the three remaining PDF men, screaming in agony as las-bolts and solid slugs tear through the wood and into his body. The PDF man tries to run but his legs give way under him as he is hit as well. Two rebels try an advance but I flick to full-auto and kill them easily. The Marines, however, are proving rather a different proposition. There are still four of them, and even as I watch one of them kills Normens with a bolter round to his chest. As I turn to watch our flank, I see Samarchus crouching behind a crate talking into his communicator, apparently as calm as ever.

"_Truthful Justice_, be prepared to fire on my mark," he shouts across the din of battle, apparently reading my mind. I nod, then pause.

"Fire at what?"

He turns to look at me.

"Us."

While I had been half expecting his response, it still struck me like a las-bolt searing into my brain.

"You mean…" He nods solemnly.

"There might be no getting away this time, Kage. We must stop the enemy from gaining access to the gate, and if that means the sacrifice of a few soldiers and an Inquisitor, so be it." I am distracted by the sound of Innel shouting,

"I'm out of ammo!" and the realisation that the situation has not got any better. There are only four rebels still alive, yes, but an equal number of Marines still blasting away with bolters. Another PDF man lies clutching at where his legs and groin used to be, gurgling fitfully as his hearts' last beats pump his life blood out onto the cold, rockcrete floor.

I take in the scene before me, realising it might be the last thing I ever see. Noil and Innel are back to back, firing their laspistols at the Rebels in a last gesture of defiance. Kiyet exhausts her last hotshot cell as I watch, hesitantly discarding her lasgun and switching to a stubby autopistol she pulls from her belt. Kilok downs one of the rebels with a shot to the head, and Yunak does likewise with one of the Marines.

I stood there, expecting something to happen; for the Guverian Dragoons to burst through the hole in the wall and kill everything, for friendly gunships to streak across the sky, even for the Emperor himself to descend from the heavens.

What I wasn't expecting was what actually happens. Samarchus stands up, blows the chest off one of the Marines, turns to us and roars;

"Over the side! Move!" We stare at him in stunned immobility. I risk a glance over the edge of the landing area down the vertiginous drop, the bottom of which is still shrouded in an icy fog.

"Go now! I'm going to leave a little surprise for our followers," he says, the faintest hint of a smile creeping across his face.

Holix verbalises what we're all thinking.

"But….we'll die!' Samarchus laughs.

"Not if you do it right. There's a ledge running under here, a narrow one admittedly, but there is a ledge. If you drop in towards the cliff, you'll be fine." None of us wants to be the first to try this out, but with the three surviving Marines closing in, bolter fire chewing pieces off our cover, our chances are perhaps slightly greater if we jump off a vertical cliff and hope to the Emperor we land on a narrow ledge.

"Follow me!" I shout, hurdling the low railing at the edge of the rockcrete apron and clinging on for dear life. Samarchus removes all his plasma grenades from his belt and ties them all together with some cord from one of his innumerable pouches.

"Good luck!" he calls out. "I'll see you down there shortly." I had no doubt he would, but whether 'down there' meant the ledge or the fog-shrouded valley floor remained to be seen. Johnas and Yunak vault the fence and hang on next to me, Noil, Kilok and Innel covering Samarchus as he rigged his trap. I see the final PDF man take down one of the rebels before being messily torn apart by bolter fire. Boyte's life ends in much the same way.

"Ok," I call to Johnas and Yunak. "We go on three." They nod stoically, no doubt feeling the same wave of apprehension that was gripping me.

"One." Ransler is dismembered by bolter rounds.

"Two." Holix cuts down the two remaining rebels who are sprinting for us.

"Three!" I let go of the railing and plunge into the icy depths. I cannot help feeling I am falling to my death…until I smack into the ledge with a bone-crunchingly hard impact. What with it being very early morning, and the ledge being in shadow, the ice coating is as hard as the rock underneath. I wince in pain as I stand, hearing the reassuring thumps that tell me at least Yunak and Johnas have made it down safely too.

"He wasn't kidding when he said it was narrow," Johnas remarked. Now that he brought it to my attention, I could see the ledge we were standing on was precariously, almost desperately, thin. Looking up I could see Innel, Kilok and Kiyet's shapely figure lined up above us for their turn to drop. The sounds of battle are muted from down here, and although I can see Innel shouting something his voice is taken by the chill wind and no sound reaches us. Without warning, they let go. Within seconds they are safely on the ledge. With only Holix, Noil and Samarchus left, the intensity of firing seems to have died away somewhat. Noil and Holix appear over the edge, Noil apparently still firing at the enemy with his laspistol. We shuffle around to make room for them on the ledge, but before they can drop Noil is struck by a bolter round. His shattered body is propelled away from the ledge as if in slow motion, blood forming a fine spray of shining droplets catching the early morning sun. Suddenly, he is past us and gone, gone forever into the mist below.

Holix drops and lands beside me, panting. Samarchus follows immediately, falling almost gracefully. In his right hand is his power sword. In his left, the pins to his plasma grenades.

We all look up simultaneously. One of the Traitor Marines leans over the edge, and raises his bolter to fire. Before he can, there is a flash of light from just behind him and he disintegrates in a vast, roiling fireball. I look back at Samarchus. He's smiling.

Some time later, we are climbing up a rocky promontory above the manufactory. From here, in the morning light, the snowfield glistens like a lake. There are still a few smoking craters here and there, and the Lascannon emplacements on the far side of the field still burn fiercely, but otherwise any scenes of last night's carnage have been removed.

The enemy, however, has not. Hundreds of red and black-clad rebel soldiers mill around, seemingly aimlessly from up here, but no doubt each performing some action geared towards getting the place ready to be defended against the inevitable counterattack from the Guverian Dragoons, now just an hour or so away in the foothills. Tanks, dozens of them, sit idling, some in sandbagged revetments, others in the open. The siege guns employed to such deadly effect have been relegated to sitting in a corner, swarming with dots as technicians and crews prepare them for their next battle. Slightly larger dots reveal themselves, upon closer inspection through Samarchus's magnoculars, to be Chaos Marines, about 50 or so in total. Of course, the Emperor alone knows how many more Marines and rebels are hidden inside the manufactory itself.

Suddenly, Samarchus, leading the column, calls a halt. We settle in behind some jagged rocks for a well-earned rest. I sit next to Johnas, who pulls out his canteen and offers me some.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've got my own water," I tell him. He smiles.

"This isn't water, it's Amasec." I laugh, knowing Johnas is just the type, despite his conscientious appearance, to carry alcohol in his canteen instead of water.

"In that case, it's an offer I can't refuse," I tell him, taking a swig as Samarchus strides over to us.

"Gentlemen, I think this is the perfect spot, don't you?" he says, fumbling in his belt.

"What for?" I ask. He beams in triumph as he removes his communicator and flicks it open.

"Why, for observing the utter destruction of our enemies, of course!" I smile grimly, remembering his little speech on the landing pads.

He claps his gloved hands twice, drawing the attention of our rag-tag band of soldiers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please try not to look directly at the lance beams, as they are_ very_ bright." He seems to have been transformed from the grim warrior of last night into a slightly maniacal street entertainer.

Our group clusters around the rocks, clamouring for a better view of the relatively peaceful scene below. Samarchus fiddles with his communicator, then speaks.

"_Truthful Justice, _fire on my mark." Confirmation comes through from the orbiting Battlecruiser, and I can imagine her gunners bringing the plasma batteries to bear, loading the heavy torpedo tubes and calculating firing solutions.

"Are we ready?" he asks nobody in particular. A chorus of assents greet this remark, and he utters a single word into his communicator.

"Fire."

The tension mounts as nothing happens. I am beginning to think that the connection has broken down, when the first of the lance batteries hits.

It touches down just behind our former trench line, on the ferrocrete slope up towards the manufactory entrance. A blinding flash obscures my vision for a second, but when it clears I can see a huge, burning crater has been carved into the slope. I see dots, rebel soldiers and Marines, stand still in astonishment before breaking for cover.

But there is no cover down there. More lance beams atomise huge chunks of earth and ferrocrete, scything down and immolating enemy soldiers in their hundreds. One of the manufactory chimneys takes a direct hit and crumples to the ground in an instant, where it is utterly smashed by the massive energy beam. Plasma fire joins in the slaughter, destroying the entire middle section of our earthworks in one blast. The heat, as last time, is intense, and I can only imagine what it can be like for the soldiers trapped in that hellish firestorm. The temperature of the plasma and lance beams approaches that of the core of a medium-sized star, and this is represented by the flash-evaporation of practically all of the snow on the slope around us, never mind in the snowfield. Whole platoons of tanks are melted and fused together by the heat from plasma blasts impacting on and around them. The siege cannon take a direct torpedo hit, annihilating all six of them in one fell swoop.

It is utter carnage, but joyous to watch. Thousands of enemies of the Imperium, not just rebels and traitors but Space Marines, heavy armoured vehicles and Emperor knows what else.

As suddenly as it began, the firing stops. I mentally relax, amazed at the exertion of simply watching such a spectacle, and wipe my brow clean of sweat, before I am caught by surprise as the barrage begins again, this time targeting the manufactory itself.

Within seconds the entire roof is gone. The one remaining chimney tumbles into a heap of charred bricks on the snowfield. Two torpedoes smash into the heart of the building, sending giant plumes of dirt and debris high into the air. More lance beams blow great chunks out of the edge of the plateau, and with a grinding, rushing sound audible even from here over the din of explosions, a huge section of rock and dirt detaches itself from the plateau and disappears into the valley below. I turn my gaze back onto the manufactory. By now it is nothing more than a great, steaming crater. Dozens of fires burn around the outer rim of the hole, and there are numerous secondary explosions as the heat cooks off ammunition stores and power generators. The devastation is total. Nothing could possibly have survived down there.

Except something did. As the steam and smoke from the bombardment clears somewhat, blown away by the strong mountain breeze, a great, curved semi-arch, jet black but studded with green gems eachthe size of a small truck, becomes visible. The Eldar Gateway has survived completely unharmed, thanks to the shimmering forcefield surrounding it.

"Well," says Samarchus. "We may not have been able to destroy the Gate, but we certainly denied its use to Chaos." His words are almost immediately proved true, as three dots appear in the sky on the horizon. The magnoculars reveal them to be Imperial Navy Thunderbolts, and as they swoop low overhead with full atmospheric reheat, the first of the Guverian armoured Chimera transports appear through the narrow entrance to the snowfield. A cheer erupts from all around me. Finally, almost four hours later than promised, our relief has arrived.

We are safe.

But not for long. Within an hour of the transports arriving we are on our way back down the treacherous valley track, heading for the capital, Advacus, bumping and bouncing across potholes on the back of a two-ton truck being driven by a shaven-headed Guverian Corporal. Passing us in the other direction is a stream of military vehicles- Leman Russ battle tanks, Chimera armoured personnel transports, trucks like ours loaded with fresh-faced troopers without a speck of dirt on their battledress providing a direct contrast to our doubtless dishevelled appearance.

Johnas leans over to me and shouts, "I wonder what the Colonel will make of us?"

"I think he'll curse his luck that we're still alive, then give us another suicide mission," I reply. Just like every other time we came back from a job, I think grimly.

As we round a sharp corner I notice a distant trio of specks in the skies over Advacus. Twinkling las-fire and ragged black puffs of flak burst around them, marking their path from the south towards us. At first I think nothing of it, just another combat air patrol of Navy Thunderbolts. But then I recall what the Guverian soldiers jumping off their transports at the smoking remains of the manufactory had said; Advacus was back in Imperial hands, cleared by the 12th Frelkian Lancers and the Guverian's sister armoured division, the 4th. Either it was a case of blue-on-blue firing by the Imperial air defences, or…

I notice the aircraft are now uncomfortably close to our position. As the driver winds his way round another corner I lose sight of them momentarily, but rapidly reacquire them through a gap in the rock walls that bracket the road. A pang of dread passes through me as I recognise them as rebel Phantom dive-bombers. Even as I watch the leader breaks formation, slowing rapidly and nosing down into the near-vertical as his petal-like dive brakes extend.

"Keep your heads down! Enemy aircraft!" I shout. Too late the driver notices the threat, and his response is to put his foot to the floor and send us rocketing downhill. We all lie on the flatbed, keeping one wary eye on the incoming jets. The leader has reached his bombing altitude and I notice two bombs fall free of the centreline pylon and plummet straight towards us. I bury my head in my hands and wait for the inevitable fiery doom to envelop us. But the bombs go wide, rocking the truck violently from side to side and sending a plume of dirt and pieces of metal skyward. Risking a glance over the tailgate of the truck I see a similar machine upside-down in a ditch, flames already consuming the cab as several surviving troopers crawl clear of the flatbed. I duck instinctively as I hear the whistle of more incoming ordnance. This time the bombs straddle a Leman Russ grinding its way slowly up the hill, causing no visible damage. I glance up and see the third and final bomber rolling in to the attack. The whine of its turbojets is piercingly loud as its payload separates and it pulls out of the dive. I lie flat again as the bombs strike home.

The whole world seems to come apart at the seams. A blinding flash sears my retina and I instinctively shut my eyes as I am flung sideways by the blast, striking something hard and rolling to a painful stop. A wave of heat washes over me and a ringing fills my ears. I open my eyes.

I am lying face up on the hard, rocky road. Looking around I see our battered truck. One of the wheels is missing, the windows shattered, bodywork battered, radiator steaming. Traffic in the other direction has been halted by the huge steaming crater in the road. I am amazed to see that everyone on board seems to have survived the explosions unharmed, even the driver. I stand up and dust myself off.

"Looks like we walk from here," I say.

After being picked up by another truck heading downhill, we arrive in Advacus just as the sun begins to set. The driver swings us onto a wide, tree-lined boulevard. Strings of dazed rebel prisoners march, hands on heads, down the central reservation, guarded by Guverian troopers. The occasional tank or anti-aircraft vehicle rolls across at intersections, and groups of soldiers gather around small fires, trying in vain to keep warm in the evening chill.

The truck bumps to a standstill outside a grand, four-storey stone structure, presumably a hotel or some such before the rebellion. A steady stream of soldiers, clerks and admin-servitors pour in and out of the doors. Samarchus jump down from the truck.

"This is the headquarters for the sector. It is here I must wish you farewell," he says. I detect a note of something approaching sadness in his voice. I stand and salute him. He returns the gesture. It must be an odd sight for passing troopers, a dishevelled penal legion lieutenant saluting an equally dishevelled Inquisitor.

"I couldn't think of any finer troops this side of the Astartes," says Samarchus, addressing all of us. "You ought to be damn proud of your soldiers, Lieutenants." Holix and I both nod. Then, without another word, Samarchus was gone, up the steps into the HQ building. I reason that the Colonel must be in there somewhere, so I call down to a passing clerk laden down with a bundle of files and data slates.

"Where's the 13th Penal Legion HQ, trooper?" He looks up, startled, as if he is surprised to learn that a penal legion has a HQ.

"Wha..." he stutters, taken aback by my appearance. Then, as if struck by the Emperor's divine light, recognition spreads across his features as he notices the rank pins on my collar, encrusted with dirt and dried blood, but still there.

"Yes sir! Third floor, first door on the right, sir!" he calls. I thank him and motion for everyone to disembark. Holix and Kilok come over to me.

"Well, it's like Samarchus said, Kage," Holix pats my shoulder. "We part ways here, and I can't think of anyone finer to have fought beside." He salutes. I respond.

"Likewise. Your men do this planet proud. They fought bravely. I just hope their sacrifices were worth this Eldar technology." He nods sagely.

"As do I, Kage. As do I."

The headquarters is bustling. I make my way upstairs to the third floor, weaving through crowds of staff officers staring in disbelief at this bloodstained, dirty mess of a man purporting to be a soldier and pressing through their midst. I finally reach the room, and enter without knocking. The Colonel is seated at his desk, perusing a data-slate with only mild interest. He looks up as I enter.

For a moment, but only a moment, he looks almost startled, taken aback at either my entrance or my appearance. I suspect the former.

"Kage," he says, rising and tossing the data-slate into a pile of others on the desk. "Truth be told, I didn't expect you to survive this mission."

"Do you ever expect me to survive a mission, sir?" I ask him. The ghost of a smile flickers across his lips.

"After all these years, Kage, yes." He suddenly becomes solemn again.

"How many are with you?" I respond immediately.

"Four, sir." Johnas, Innel, Yunak, Kiyet. His eyebrows rise.

"As few as that? Still, you succeeded, and that's all that really matters." Sometimes he can be even more heartless than his appearance would suggest.

He strides around the desk, picking up another data-slate.

"I already have a new one for you, Kage," he says, and my heart sinks. A new mission on the cards so soon after our previous escapade can only mean it is crucial, and therefore doubtless highly dangerous.

"The fortress of Magna Primus. Out in the foothills two hundred klicks west of here. Major defensive obstacle on the way to the plains and the cities therein. It is also home to the planet's launch centre."

"Launch centre? What for, sir?" I ask. He tosses me the data-slate.

"For the planetary defence missiles," he says. "Once the traitors holding Magna Primus get word that we have taken the capital, we fear they will immediately launch their nuclear arsenal to wipe us from the map. We can't engage the fortress from orbit because we dare not risk the fleet. We suspect they didn't engage the _Truthful Justice _only because they are saving their missiles to hit our ground forces. Thus we must move fast. Advanced units of the 43rd Guverians and the 98th Frelkians are already within 20 klicks of the fortress. We have a further three regiments, two of them armoured, moving in as we speak. The attack begins at noon tomorrow. I want you and the Last Chancers in the front wave." An inescapable sinking feeling washes over me like the fiery blast from one of those anti-ship torpedoes. I study the data-slate and begin to realise what a suicide run this really, truly is.

The fortress was built by the finest siege engineers in the system. Designed to withstand orbital-level strikes, it is formidably defended. Page after page of armament information scrolls across the screen. Heavy defensive cannons, surface-to-air missile batteries and flak guns, minefield sewn two klicks deep, hundreds of heavy lascannon, missile launcher and plasma cannon emplacements, not to mention innumerable stubbers, bolters and autocannons dotting the walls. Intelligence expects at least five thousand Chaos troops defending the place. That doesn't include any mention of elite forces, like the Marines we encountered in the manufactory, or of armour, never mind the possibility of any daemonic presence.

If the Colonel wanted to get rid of us, he could hardly have picked a better mission.

The truck sloughs to a halt, sliding on the icy ground of the dispersal area. I hop down, lasgun in one hand, gear in the other. All around me other trucks pull up and disgorge their cargo of the dregs of human society; the Last Chancers. There are 250 of us for this mission, an overstrength Company, and the resulting 25 trucks cause a moderate traffic holdup as we scramble clear into the lee of a row of Chimeras, hoping to get some respite from the chill wind blowing across the plain. Before we left, the Colonel gave me a temporary promotion to Captain to allow me to command effectively. Not that this makes any difference, since there was nobody else who could have taken control, it's more of a bureaucratic appointment, so the staff officers at army HQ won't get confused.

Less than ten klicks to the west, the massive bulk of Magna Primus is clearly visible, looking immensely foreboding and impenetrable in the early dawn light. With its back against the equally imposing peak of Mount Tharan, and bracketed by fields of ice boulders and uneven ground, there is only one clear avenue of approach for the Imperial assault force.

The last of the trucks pulls away back onto the road, heading to the relative safety of Advacus nearly 200 klicks away. Around me, Last Chancers rub hands together in a vain attempt to keep warm.

"Listen up, Last Chancers!" I shout, my voice carrying above the rumble of tanks passing nearby.

"We've got to make our way to the jump-off point for the attack, which in our case is about two hundred metres that way," I explain, pointing off to the north along the winding trenchline thrown up overnight by the Guverian pioneers.

"They don't expect us to walk to the fortress, do they sir?" someone called out. I smile. That had been my first thought, but I had been reliably informed by the Colonel that there would be enough Chimeras spare to transport us all in, and I tell them so.

I am about to continue with my briefing, but I am interrupted by an ear-splitting series of thunderous bangs from behind me. I turn on my heel in surprise as the Imperial artillery line opens fire on the fortress.

Row upon row of huge, bulbous flashes split the night as the Basilisks and Earthshaker cannons fire again. It is an impressive sight, although tempered somewhat by the two orbital bombardments I have seen within the past few days.

The crash of the cannon is soon joined by the whining roar of multiple-launch rocket pieces hidden behind a small snowy mound. The fiery trails of their ordnance are clearly visible against the slowly lightening sky as they arc towards their targets.

"Ok, let's get to the jump-off point. We'll have five hours rest, then we have to prepare for the attack," I tell the assembled men and women. If it's possible to rest, I think, as the artillery fire again.

"First platoon, five minutes! I want you on your Chimeras and ready to roll!" Johnas shouts down the line to his men and women. Although I am the Company commander, and thus should be with my own headquarters platoon, we don't have a headquarters platoon, so instead I'm acting as commander of first platoon. Johnas is my platoon sergeant, second-in-command of the platoon and, in our case, the whole Company.

Second and third platoons are already loaded up and ready. The Chimera crewmen are walking around their vehicles, performing last minute checks and prayers. I climb aboard my 'command' Chimera, which is exactly the same as all the others. For this mission we are all wearing vox-beads, allowing us to communicate quickly and easily. Each squad also has a vox-man, lugging a bulky long-range set around on his back to send and receive messages to and from HQ.

Johnas follows me in. The interior is hardly warmer than standing outside, the open hatch removing any evidence of the purring fan-heaters' attempts to raise the temperature. First squad climb aboard, stowing kit under the benches and sitting down. The ramp closes with a hiss, leaving the compartment bathed in sickly red light. The gunner drops down into his seat, closing the hatch behind him and sealing us in. With a bellow the engine starts, vibrating the carrier like an earthquake. The gunner makes the signal for us to switch to interior communications, which we do with a simple button press.

"Welcome aboard, first squad," he says, turning on his remote gunsight. "Should be a smooth run in, the artillery has been pounding the fortress for five hours now." I make a mental note that he's obviously never been in combat before. Experience tells you that, no matter how long the artillery fires for, it never seems to erode the enemies' will to fight. It merely makes it easier for them to hide.

But, as he comes back into the troop compartment to check the rear hatch seal, I notice several campaign ribbons sewn to his chest. Guess I was wrong.

The driver kicks the Chimera into gear and we are moving. Only a matter of time now.

As the Chimera bumps its way towards the fortress, reports start coming in on the vox from the first wave of troops, already engaging the enemy ahead of us.

The news isn't good.

"Omega five is taking fire!" "Swing her left, regroup with third platoon!" "We've just lost our lead tank, back up and go around!" "We're in a minefield, Emperor damn it!"

First squad exchange nervous glances. Our Chimera shakes as a shell goes off nearby.

"Almost there!" the gunner chimes in. "Two klicks out. We shouldn't have too much trou…' he is cut off by a bone-jarring explosion, deafening in the enclosed space of the troop compartment. Several members of first squad fall in a heap on the floor as we slew to a stop. Smoke begins to fill the compartment. I look around. The driver is slumped over his controls, legs and lower torso blown completely away by the mine that has torn a jagged hole in the floor and side of the front end.

"Everybody out!" I shout, jumping up and slamming the hatch release with a gloved hand. Nothing happens for a moment and I fear the door is jammed, but then, slowly, it grinds open. We file out into the freezing midday air, and into a scene from hell.

Smoke wreathes much of the battlefield, but what I can see is bad enough. Here, an overturned Chimera burns fiercely, the screams of its trapped passengers audible even above the gunfire and explosions. There, a Leman Russ torn apart by some kind of high-calibre weapon. An entire Guverian squad ripped to bloody rags by a shell lie broken and motionless, their blood staining the snow and already freezing solid in the bitter cold.

I duck for cover behind the Chimera, which has slewed to the left after striking the mine. The track has been demolished, links and bearing wheels are scattered about the place at random.

"Get down and stay down!" I roar above the din of battle. For one man it is too late, a nearby shell blast taking his head off even as I shout my order. That leaves nine of us…

Make that ten. The gunner crawls out of the ruined Chimera, blood spattering his battledress, lasgun in his hands.

"Tanner is dead," he tells us. I look at him quizzically.

"Our driver," he responds glumly. I tune my vox-bead to the local battlefield frequency, and instruct the others to do likewise.

"You know how to fight…uum…trooper?" I ask the gunner. He nods.

"It's Ansen, sir. I used to be in the Frelkian Lancers before I joined the armour." I notice the regimental patch on his sleeve, the Frelkian 9th Armoured.

"Ok, you follow me at all times and you do exactly as I tell you, understood?" He nods.

"Yes sir, I'm ready." I motion the Last Chancers into a circle around me. Shellfire is still blasting craters in the snow all around us.

"We have to get out of here. The fortress is less than a klick that way," I motion through the smoke. "If we can make it to some friendly units we can continue the attack, and we might at least have a better chance than we do standing here!" A cheer erupts from the Last Chancers, and I stand.

"Follow me, and stick close!" I set off at a run through the smoke, wondering if this is such a good idea after all.

I can't see a thing. I assume I am running towards the fortress, towards the enemy guns. Then, suddenly, I start to see the ghostly flickers and flashes of distant weapons fire through the thinning smoke clouds. I see Johnas next to me, weapon raised and ready.

As I emerge into the relatively clear air, two things become clear. The first is that I can't see the sky without looking straight up, blocked out as it is by the towering bulk of the fortress' curtain wall about three hundred yards ahead of me. The second is that we are not alone.

All around us Imperial guardsmen charge in to the attack. Here and there the squat shapes of Leman Russ tanks, Chimera APCs and Sentinel bipedal walkers are visible; pressing on close behind are the infantry. My run becomes a sprint as I spot the row of gun ports and crenellations up top of the wall, pitted and scarred by the bombardment. The big guns don't appear to be able to engage us this close in, as every time they fire the shell goes whistling past overhead. However, we are still clearly visible to the gunners of smaller weapons such as heavy bolters and stubbers. A murderous hail of bullets, las-bolts and shells sends up hundreds of tiny puffs of snow, and send down many guardsmen, limbs blown off or steaming holes in their bodies.

Seeing a nearby Guverian soldier blown head over what remains of his heels by a torrent of dirt and snow reminds me that we have just run through a minefield, and I slam into the wall panting heavily. The nine members of first squad and Ansen have made it through the wall of fire miraculously unscathed. They take up positions around me.

Surveying the scene, I see that not many other guardsmen have made it to the wall; the snowfield before me is littered with corpses. A couple of tanks have gone up in flames, too, direct hits from lascannons or missile launchers seeing to that.

We are safe, for now. But I can see one major problem. There's no visible way of getting through the wall.

"Where the hell are the Demolisher tanks?" I shout to nobody in particular. Demolisher tanks are specially equipped siege tanks with a cannon that can crack ferrocrete Emperor-only knows how thick. If anything is going to get us through this wall, it's one of them.

There's nothing much visible through the thick, choking smoke that swirls in lazy coils across the battlefield. Every few seconds a plume of snow and dirt erupts as a shell slams home. I can hear the rumbling and clanking of heavy armour somewhere out there, but where?

It all becomes clear suddenly as a bright orange flash flares into life in the smoke, accompanied a fraction of a second later by a loud crack. A couple of bits of shrapnel whicker across the snow in front of us, one larger piece that looks like it came from the turret basket setting off another mine as it cartwheels.

"Well that's that, sir," says Johnas, crouching next to me and checking his lasgun. "Looks like we're on our own again." I go to agree with him, but then feel more than hear a distant, resonant thumping. The squad look around nervously. Soon the sound drowns out much of the gunfire that's all around us. The ground trembles with what sound like giant footsteps.

"What in the Emperor's name is that?" someone breaths. I don't respond, as my eye catches movement to our rear.

The Warlord-class Titan emerges from the smoke like an enormous prehistoric monster, turbolasers firing and smoke swirling from the quintuple barrels of its Volcano Cannon. I notice a sudden subsidence in firing from the curtain wall. Even as I watch it fires again, beams of blinding white light crossing the space between it and the wall in an instant.

The row of gunports that have been taken under fire erupt in a mountain of flame and rubble, slumping down the frontage at the head of an ever increasing column of dust and smoke.

Suddenly, a similar blast of fire erupts from the smoke to my right, and I notice this Titan is not alone. Its two compatriots suddenly burst through the shroud of smoke.

Each one stands at least sixty metres tall, a giant, terrifying bipedal war machine dotted with point-defence weapons and Auspex sensors. Their right arms consist of Volcano Cannons, while their left arms contain a mix of weapons; one has a chainsword the length of a dropship, one has some sort of enormous bolter, spitting a stream of shells at the fortress, while the one nearest to us is equipped with some kind of plasma cannon.

The trio of God-like war engines advance in unison, cannons flashing and shorter-range turbolasers mounted on their shoulders chattering. We stand open mouthed in absolute awe at the display of pure power and presence before us. The Titan's appearance has evidently broken the back of the defenders on the wall, as the firing slackens off significantly. One of the Titans stoops and blasts a gaping hole in the base of the wall nearby with its cannon.

Finally, our path is clear.

"Let's go, Last Chancers!" I shout. Still awed by the immense war machines towering over them, it takes a few seconds for them to respond, but soon we are sprinting for the opening a few hundred yards away. A steady stream of Imperial soldiers and vehicles are pouring through the still-steaming breach. I notice a number of Last Chancers amongst them, and I call over my vox-bead for them to gather up. Switching back to the battlefield channel I hear some unknown soldier ask the obvious question- why didn't the Titans lead the assault? A stern voice, presumably that of a senior officer, answers him- they were leading, but the Rebels had been hiding in the hills on our right flank in some considerable number, and as they revealed themselves by engaging the strike force, the Titans were diverted to deal with the threat which, by all accounts, they have done with almost contemptuous ease.

The breach is easily wide enough for several tanks to pass through line abreast, with plenty of room for infantry to run alongside.

We emerge into the main courtyard of the fortress. Already a couple of Chimeras are burning wrecks.

"Take cover!" someone shouts. Swirling missile trails criss-cross the courtyard, striking one Leman Russ even as I watch. At first it looks like it has come through unscathed, but then fire erupts from every orifice. Hatches blow open and thick black smoke pours from the gunports.

The courtyard is ringed with buildings, of various shapes and sizes. Defence towers dot the skyline, quad-barrelled autocannons and heavy artillery pieces blasting away at incoming aircraft. The main fortress entrance is obscured from view behind a row of squat barracks blocks, some with roofs blasted open to the sky. A couple of sandbagged emplacements have been demolished by grenades or tank fire, bodies strewn about the place.

I duck into cover behind a stack of crates. First squad follows my lead. So does a Guverian Major, swinging round and ducking for cover as las-fire follows him.

"It's a fragging slaughter out there!" he roars. He's lost his helmet somewhere along the way, and his thick black hair is matted with blood from a nasty head wound. He peers at the enemy positions through soot-rimmed eyes before regarding us with some distain.

"Who the hell are you people?" he asks.

"13th Penal Legion, sir," I reply. "The Last Chancers." He nods.

"Yes, I've heard of you. Glad to have you on board; your reputation precedes you," he explains, his face breaking into a smile. "Ok, how many of you are there?"

"Two hundred-fifty, sir. We're scattered to the Warp and back, and there's only forty of us here, but we can still fight. I'm Captain Kage, sir."

"I thought you might be. Ok, you and your men are with me. Guverian 216th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Battalion, Beta Company. I'm Major Anders. Now let's go. We've got a fortress to clear."

With Major Anders' Beta Company leading the way, we continue deeper into the fortress until we come to the entrance to the main complex.

Plasteel blast doors, metres thick, block our progress. We fan out and secure the perimeter. Despite the firing going on all around, we haven't seen a single enemy since we entered the fortress. The silence and lack of opposition is almost worrying.

"Fire in the hole!" I duck behind the edge of the entrance ramp as the Demolisher fires, the enormous siege cannon blasting a jagged hole in the doors. Acrid smoke and the smell of burning drift over me.

"For the Emperor!" cries Major Anders, sprinting up the ramp and through the gap. The Last Chancers follow.

It takes a couple of seconds for our eyes to adjust to the relative darkness inside, lit only by a few stuttering glow-globes and sodium strip-lights. Facing us in the huge tunnel is a row of sandbagged emplacements with heavy stubbers and bolters. They start firing.

"Get out! Everybody out!" I roar, turning and running back for the exit even as Major Anders' lead squad is ripped to bloody shreds by the massed gunfire. I leap for safety off the ramp, roll, and stand up. Waving the Demolisher forward I turn to survey the scene. All of the Last Chancers have evacuated safely, but there are about twenty fewer Guverians. Major Anders appears over the other side of the ramp, and I snap off a quick salute as the Demolisher rolls between us, blocking my view of the entrance.

I hear shouts of alarm from inside the tunnel as the Demolisher rolls inside, bolters chattering. A few seconds later I hear the report of the cannon, followed by the sound of an enormous explosion, amplified by the tight confines of the tunnel. The ground shakes and chunks of ferrocrete are dislodged from the tunnel roof as a chocking cloud of dust rolls out across the assembled Imperials. Anders waves us into the advance again, and I find myself alongside Kiyet and a trooper called Bayliss, wielding a short las-carbine.

Bright red las-bolts contrast with the grey banality of the tunnel walls, flickering between defenders and attackers. I find it hard to believe anyone could have survived the Demolisher's onslaught, and indeed nasty red stains and body parts mingle with the contents of the sandbags on the floor. But another Rebel squad is rushing in to the attack, lasguns blazing. I raise my own weapon and return fire. Two Last Chancers are cut down but so are four Rebels. Innel appears at my side and douses another man in fire, sending him screaming back the way he's just come. I take careful aim and pop a Rebel raising a rocket launcher to his shoulder, sending him tumbling backwards. A man with a shotgun appears from a side tunnel and gets a shot off, winging a Last Chancer and sending him sprawling. Kiyet splits his head neatly with a hotshot round.

We advance down the tunnel, checking side turnings and alcoves, but no more enemies emerge.

"I can't believe it's going to be this easy to get inside," Johnas says, running over to me. "Where the hell are they?"

"It won't be, don't worry. They must have something special planned. We'd better get moving; no need to hold up the advance because of some slight suspicions," I reply, taking the stairs at the end of the tunnel one at a time.

Behind me, Johnas, Kiyet, Innel, Yunak, Ansen and about fifteen other Last Chancers follow. The staircase is narrow and twisting. Dark, too; the glow-globes behind cages appear to have failed. The walls are damp and moss grows in places. Eventually we emerge into a wide corridor. Thick, ornate pillars extend up to the rafters, shrouded in darkness. Huge stained-glass windows line the corridor, having miraculously survived the artillery bombardment. It looks more like a palace than a military fortress. The corridor extends away into the distance, and I know that is where we must go; to the missile control centre.

The huge, thick steel blast doors block our progress. The control room lies just beyond, but there seems to be no way short of a Demolisher we can get through.

"Curse the engineers who decided this place was worth defending!" shouts Major Anders. He and his second platoon have followed us to the command centre. His other platoons are busy securing the tunnel system below the fortress, and nobody else seems to have made it this far, so we're on our own.

The Last Chancers and Guverians have taken up defensive positions around the entrance, which lies at the end of a long and dead-straight corridor.

"What the hell do we do now?" Anders asks. I shrug.

"Have your people got any explosives, sir?" He nods.

"Sure, some tube charges and grenades, but no heavy duty demolitions and certainly nothing capable of breaching this bastard. We'll have to wait for the pioneers, but Emperor alone knows what those traitors are doing in there while we dither about out here!"

"Are there any other ways in?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"No. Just this door, it was designed with defence in mind, after all. Emperor knows what we're going to do now. The door is too thick for tube charges, too thick even for meltas."

"Why the hell didn't they tell us how thick it was before they sent us in?" I complain loudly. Suddenly, our rant is interrupted by a loud klaxon blaring from hidden speakers. I look around as red emergency lighting kicks in. An emotionless servitor voice follows;

"Warning. Five minutes to launch. All personnel clear launch tubes. Repeat, five minutes to launch."

Anders and I exchange nervous glances.

"When he says launch…"

The sound of fifty people sprinting fills the corridors as we desperately search for the landing platforms.

"Here! These stairs!" Johnas shouts. We turn near enough as one up a corridor and shoot up the metal stairs.

We emerge onto the landing pad in time to hear the servitor intone;

"One minute to launch. All personnel brace for firing."

The walls of the fortress are only slightly higher than the pads, and I can see the bulk of Mount Tharan rising high into the blue sky. Through the metal mesh of the pad safety grille I can see a bustle of activity down in the courtyard below as Guardsmen run for the exits, some jumping onto the backs of carriers and tanks, others falling short and getting crushed beneath the tracks of the next vehicle in line.

"Come on!" I roar, spotting a shuttle on an adjacent pad. It is big enough for everyone, but it is guarded by five Rebels in bright red overalls. They look like engineers rather than soldiers, and indeed barely react to our presence. Las-bolts fell two instantly. The remaining three scramble for cover as shots pock-mark the shuttle and the boxes they crouch behind. Another one falls to a precision shot by Yunak when he pops his head up for just a fraction of a second too long.

"Thirty seconds to launch." Emperor preserve us, I think. Thirty seconds until the Rebel scum launch the surface-to-orbit nuclear torpedo stockpile, normally used to kill starships. I assume they're targeted to fall straight back to earth and annihilate us all.

The two remaining engineers try to back away up the open cargo ramp of the shuttle, but are killed almost immediately. We sprint for the ramp; thirty or so Guverians and twenty Last Chancers.

"Can anyone fly this thing?" I ask, incredulous that I hadn't thought to ask before. Two Guverians step forward, along with a Last Chancer called Trakan, who used to be a pilot if I remember correctly.

"Up you go, and get us moving as soon as I give the word!" I shout, boots clanging on the metal ramp. The men and women behind me charge headlong into the cargo hold. Rows of canvas bench seats line the walls, and they strap themselves in as I head for the cockpit with the three flight-capable troopers.

I strap myself into the jumpseat as Trakan takes the pilots' chair. The two Guverians sit in co-pilots' and engineers' chairs and begin prepping us for launch.

A sudden, distant rumbling begins to reverberate around the shuttle. At first I'm not sure if it's the engines starting or the launch, but my question is soon answered by the sight of three enormous ballistic missiles lancing skyward on trails of fire and vapour from hidden silos deep in the base of the mountain. My mouth goes dry.

"Hurry! Less than a fragging minute!" I shout as the turbines begin spooling. A deep throaty roar fills the shuttle, the ramp shuts with a clang, and Trakan engages the thrusters. We move, too slow for my liking, and I crane my neck to get a look at the missiles. Plumes of smoke mark their progress into the stratosphere. The shuttle lurches round and moves for the outer wall.

Suddenly, with a pang of horror, I notice a quad-barrelled autocannon turret on top of a crenelated observation tower traversing toward us.

"Evasive manoeuvres! Get us out of here, NOW!" Trakan complies, engaging full forward thrust and blasting us clear of the fortress. Lines of red tracer streak past us as we accelerate, the force pressing me into my seat. I summon enough strength to undo my belt and climb up to the observation station, a reinforced dome in the roof. Sticking my head inside I could see the fortress receding into the distance behind us. I look straight up. No sign of the missiles.

Suddenly an almighty, blinding flash lights the entire sky, drowning out the colours of the landscape and throwing everything into sharp negative contrast, as if night has fallen early. I close my eyes and look away from the searing intensity. Seconds pass and I look back again. A huge, towering cloud of dust mushrooms up from where the fortress used to be. An intense, orange fireball is speeding out from the impact point, rapidly approaching us, headed by a ring of dust and an invisible shockwave. I see snow on the ground evaporating as the fireball passes over it. I realise with a sudden pang of dread that we are not going fast enough.

"Brace! Everyone brace!" I cry, lunging for my recently vacated seat and fumbling with the harness. As I do so, I suddenly remember that, while three missiles had been launched, only one had so far detonated. Where were the others heading?

The shockwave strikes the fleeing shuttle like a fist of iron. Everything shakes as the tail of the craft bucks up, Trakan fighting with the control column. We drop hundreds of feet in mere seconds, the turbulent passage of air proving more than the shuttle can handle. Panels come loose in the compartment as we plunge down, everything loose momentarily floating as we essentially experience zero-gravity. I find myself gripping the armrests and, in one of those brief moments of lucidity in the midst of sheer terror, I notice that my hands are drained of all colour. Outside the viewport it seems we are descending into the bowels of hell, for I see nothing but flames as the fireball overtakes us. The shuttle begins to roll, almost languidly, to the right. I hear a terrible clattering from somewhere before I am jerked forwards, then backwards, then forwards again. The whine of the turbines becomes all-consuming as they struggle in vain to keep whatever is left of the shuttle in the air. I hear a panicked scream, a violent rending of metal, and a last monumental bang, and then I hear nothing.


End file.
